


Mephistophelian Bargain

by Nikkusama



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Coercion, Dancing, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Eye Trauma, Faustian Bargain, Flirting, Gay Character, Gay Sex, Hell, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Mind Rape, Mouth trauma, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn Video, Public Sex, Sex Tapes, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Unbeta'd, Violent Sex, Whump, ear trauma, radiodust - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkusama/pseuds/Nikkusama
Summary: “You’re performing at the Viper Pit tonight. Headline show. One night only.” Valentino smiled at him again, and Angel Dust felt his stomach drop with suspicion. “Select clientele. Is that understood?”Angel Dust let out the breath he was holding. Valentino was watching him closely. “Is. That. Understood!?”“Yes, sir!”“Good boy. Don’t be late. And don’t ever think of pulling a stunt like this again. You can’t even begin to imagine how much you’ll regret it.”***After watching Charlie’s debut broadcast about the Happy Hotel, Valentino goes looking for one of his highest earners, furious at his televised transgression. Angel Dust must make up for time wasted, lost income, and slipped obligations. Reparations in Hell are always steep, and this time, examples must be made.Alastor offers an… alternative arrangement. For a price. A price that Angel Dust was entirely unprepared to ever need to pay. Is it always better to deal with the devil you know than the devil you don’t?
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)/Other(s)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, okay. This is what I’m doing with my time instead of updating my current WIPs. What can I say: this ship grabbed me by the dick and I can’t stop thinking about it. I'm sure the premise has been done to death, I'm just throwing in my contribution. 
> 
> Fic is now complete! Heed the tags, cause the first chapter gets particularly dark in parts. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There were three things Angel Dust really enjoyed. Like, really _enjoyed_. Things that made his body sing with the heedless delight of it all, his head swim with sheer enjoyment. They were simple pleasures really, nothing out of the ordinary, Hell, for a demon they were practically staple: wanton destruction, unrestrained access to drugs, and carnal, gratuitous sex.

He’d only had the pleasure of enjoying two of these things today. And, well, one of them hadn’t even that good; blowing a john in the back of his car and getting a weak-ass handjob in return was shit-tier when it came to sex. He was a world-famous porn star for fuck-sake; he deserved better. He craved better. At least he’d been paid for it. And now that he thought about it, the carnage he’d wreaked with Cherri had left him with blue-balls in other ways. He’d had fun, more fun than he’d hand in a long time of he was honest, but he’d be lying if it hadn’t left him craving… something else. He wanted to carry on riding some sort of high, and it didn’t look like anyone ay the Happy Hotel was going to scratch that particular itch for a while.

Speaking of the Hotel, things had calmed down a bit, at least on the surface of it. The Radio Demon was still in full form, his voice carrying from some distant drawing room, prattling on in a way designed to be disarming. Of course, Angel Dust knew his type – he remembered the hustlers and conmen from when he was alive, the ostentatious showmen whose hands were halfway to your wallet even as they shook your hand. Sometimes they worked for his Pops, but more often they were on the receiving end of the Family turning up demanding their cut of the operation.

It annoyed him slightly to see Charlie fall for such an obvious charlatan. He’d always assumed her naivete and peppy demeanour was a front of some kind, but the more he saw of her, the more he realised, no, she really _was_ just some rich dumb bitch with something to prove. Well, she’d get what was coming to her. Hell didn’t give a flying fuck if she was technically royalty. It didn’t matter to him either.

God, just thinking about Alastor made his skin itch. He didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. Those sorts of men didn’t do anything for him – he could see through their scams, and they rarely had anything they could offer him anyway. Speaking of, he _really_ wanted to get high right now. He craved _something_ , just a little hit to finish the day off on a high note. Booze was an option, but…

Fuck it, no one would blame him if he went out for a little bit. They had bigger things to worry about right now than him slipping out to get a little something to tide him over. He’d already broken his clean streak; he might as well make it a hat-trick and start afresh in the morning.

He’d barely got to the end of the street when he heard a car pull up slowly behind him. He grinned to himself. Or, he could make some easy money first and _then_ go and get his fix.

He puffed up his chest, flicked his cigarette into the gutter, and slicked back his hair.

“Oh, Angel…”

Angel Dust paled at the deep, silky-smooth voice. He felt his shoulders tense, his back straighten as the window of the expensive limo opened fully. Valentino was smiling at him, eyes hidden by his sunglasses.

“Boss…”

The car came to a complete stop and Valentino didn’t break eye contact. A valet appeared from the front and held the door open for him, gesturing him inside.

Angel Dust slid into the back seats, wincing when the door clicked closed behind him. Valentino lounged on the upholstery opposite, two bitches sprawled on his lap, lithe bodies rubbing sensually against the velvet and fur of his coat. His clawed hands rested possessively on their hips, holding them close.

“Tell me Angel-cakes,” he purred, teeth flashing in the gloom, “what the fuck are you playing at?”

“What…?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me sugar, it was all over the news.” 

“Ah, c’mon Boss. I was just doin’ my bestie a solid. You know, helpin’ her out with a little turf war. She was packing enough heat for the both of us and I-”

“No no no, sweetheart, I’m not talking about that, though I am _surprised_ you had time to go galivanting with a radical anarchist considering you have a performance tonight.” Valentino leaned forwards, light reflecting off of his glasses in a way that Angel Dust could see his pinched reflection staring back at him. “I was referring to Miss Charlie Magne and her little news broadcast. What is all this nonsense about a hotel?”

Angel Dust looked away, fidgeting in his seat. Valentino was so very close to him; the smell of cigarette smoke was overpowering, his teeth looking so very sharp. The two bitches in his lap had surreptitiously shifted away, leaving Angel Dust feeling very alone. He laughed nervously, wringing his hands together, suddenly dizzy.

“Ah haha, that _bitch_? Nah, she’s a sucker if I ever saw one. I mean, she comes to me, _begs_ me to stay in her hotel rent and board free – who am I to turn down an opportunity like that? It ain’t like-”

Valentino held up a hand to silence him, his smile wider, sharper. Angel Dust shut up immediately, his jaw clicking closed with the abruptness of it. “Was she lying when she said that you’d been clean for two weeks? Staying out of trouble?”

The danger was palpable. He could taste it. Angel Dust shrank back as far as he could go, but the seat pressed into his back.

“No! no no no, boss, you’ve got it all wrong. I mean, you saw what me an’ Cherri pulled off, right? And… and I was with a john this afternoon, being a good little whore!”

“Hear that girls? I’ve got it all wrong.” Valentino grabbed Angel Dusts cheeks with a clawed hand and pulled him close. “Have I though? Have I got it wrong that I haven’t seen you at the studio for a fortnight? Haven’t seen you at the club?”

“Well… no. I was just-” Angel Dust trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Just what? Go on, make a pretty little excuse.”

Angel Dust let out a shuddering breath, looking caught. “I can’t, sir.”

“Exactly. You can’t. You’ve been wasting my time as if you don’t understand exactly what you are. What your work entails. And what that means for me.”

“Boss-”

“I think,” Valentino said, “that you need to learn a few lessons. I’ve been terribly patient with you sugar. I’ve turned a blind eye when you’ve gone behind my back, fucking up my drug deals, whoring yourself out on the side. I’ve given you every high you could ever want, indulged you. And for what? For you to throw it back in my face as soon as you think you can do anything on your own.”

“I can make it up to you! I can make up the time, pull double shifts at the studio, and-”

“Oh sweetheart. As if that would ever be enough. Do you have any idea how much your little hiatus has cost me? How much time and money I lost without your revenue stream?!”

“No, sir?”

Valentino leaned forward and whispered a number into Angel Dust’s ear. He paled beneath the white of his fur, eyes going wide.

“No...”

“Oh yes. With interest of course. And you’re going to pay back every single penny.”

“How-”

“You’re performing at the Viper Pit tonight. Headline show. One night only.” Valentino smiled at him again, and Angel Dust felt his stomach drop with suspicion. “Select clientele. Is that understood?”

Angel Dust let out the breath he was holding. Valentino was watching him closely. “Is. That. Understood!?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good boy. Don’t be late. And don’t ever think of pulling a stunt like this again. You can’t even begin to imagine how much you’ll regret it.”

The car pulled to a stop and the door opened. The bitches quickly shifted back to Valentino’s side, all but snuggling to his coat, pressing close. Dismissed, Angel Dust stepped out into the street.

So much for getting his buzz.

* * *

The Viper Pit was a nightclub; a little more high-end than he usually performed, but nothing out of the ordinary. It even had bouncers on the door preventing the worst of Hell’s denizens. It was packed tonight; peeking through the curtains every single table was at capacity, eyes on the stage waiting. Waiting for him.

He’d been thankful to find enough blow backstage to kill a fucking bear, and he was already starting to feel the familiar high-energy rush that came before a show. He needed all the help he could get - there was a knot of anxiety worming its way in his stomach that weas stubbornly refusing to shift. He’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop all afternoon, trying not to overthink what sort of Hell Valentino had in store for him. So far, so fucking _normal._ All he had to do was put on a show; a bit of stripping, a few lap dances, let the crowd grope him a bit. It all seemed so _tame_. He’d at least had expected to go to the studio afterwards for an afterparty, have the cameras rolling as he serviced the especially big tippers, but no one had said anything to him yet. Not that he’d mind if they did; he was the _finest_ , most _famous_ porn star in Hell. He’d got that reputation for a reason.

Still, spikes of apprehension were flaring. Valentino was in the audience, his silhouette visible in the low light, and he was smiling.

No time to worry about that now. The lights went down, the music began to pound, and the stoplight was on him. He stepped out onto the stage and the crowd went fucking wild.

He could do this. _This_ came naturally to him. His routine was tried and tested, his body shifted and undulated to the beat, all long limbs and sinuous curves. The crowd was eating it up – they always did, drawing closer as they all wanted to touch, to taste, to _devour_ him. He smiled, arching his back, spreading his legs, writhing on the stage. Give them a glimpse, rile them up, make them fucking _hungry_.

His eyes locked with Valentino’s and he risked a small, sultry grin. Valentino took a deep drag on a cigarette and blew the smoke out towards him. Even from here Angel Dust could smell it. It wasn’t tobacco; acrid and sweet, spicy and chemical, he knew _exactly_ what it was. He breathed in deep, feeling a tingling sensation fill his lungs, settle all around him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he let himself fall to the floor, wrapping his arms around his body, rubbing his skin, chasing the intense pleasure that threatened to consume him.

Oh god how could he have wanted to give up all this? This is what he needed. Pure _euphoria._ Ecstasy didn’t touch it; the earlier coke-high paled in comparison. More addictive than heroin. Stronger than speed. Valentino knew what he needed. Only Valentino could provide it.

Valentino hooked his finger, beckoning him, enticing him forward. Angel Dust complied; who was he to deny his Boss anything? He crawled forward, sensuous, enticing. Give the audience one hell of a show, he thought, let them watch him submit, present himself for their pleasure. The music pounded, made his nerves thrum and his pulse raise to the beat.

He reached Valentino’s lap – he made a display of touching his legs, hands drifting higher, higher – until a long claw hooked under his chin, encouraging him to meet Valentino’s eyes.

Valentino blew curling red smoke directly into Angel Dust’s face.

It was simultaneously the most erotic and thrilling thing he’d ever experienced. The hit was instantaneous, stronger than before, unparalleled in its intensity. He felt like he was on fire and loving every moment of it. His head spun at how bright colours in the room had become, how the entire room looked like it was moving, breathing. He collapsed off the stage, falling away from Valentino’s lap and into the waiting crowd. 

Everything felt sexual, arousing. He was hard, and everything he touched – and touched him – just compounded the feeling. He felt like he could come just from the friction of his underwear rubbing against his aching cock.

Hands were all over him, touching everywhere at once. He closed his eyes and melted into the touches, the gropes that covered every inch of his chest, stomach, ass. Deft fingers had worked their way through his fur and found his nipples, tweaking them and making him moan. Another hand was leisurely stroking his cock through his underwear, increasing the friction to an unbearable degree. 

He felt boneless as he was positioned how the crowd wanted him. One of the guys pushed his throbbing dick past Angel Dust’s lips and he sucked on it hungrily, moaning. The pleasure rose. His underwear was removed – he whimpered at the loss of sensation that had him so close to release – and a hot thick cock was pushed into him, thrusting hard, driving him even closer.

He came after the third thrust, crying out as his orgasm crashed around him. This was bliss. This was _heaven_.

In his post-orgasm afterglow, the pleasure was inexplicably rising. Higher and higher. He tried to close his eyes against the intensity of it, but if anything, it made him more aware of everything that was being done to him. The guy finished in his mouth; another hot splash of semen splattered on his face. He was repositioned, passed around to sit on someone’s lap, felt weightless as they thrust up into him. He felt so hot, so tight. A tongue slipped past his parted lips, pulling him into a forceful kiss. He was encouraged to stroke two guys standing over him, his other hands guided to play with his own oversensitive cock. 

The room was getting hotter, the actions from the crowd more forceful, the effects of the drug more concentrated. The sensations that had been so pleasurable a moment ago was starting to border into painful. A tingling fire lashed up and down his nerves and he began to squirm.

The room span and he was pushed face down, ass in the air. The carpet burned like a brand where it rubbed against his cheek. A hard slap caught him by surprise, but rather than the initial sting passing quickly, it lingered, grew. He groaned, choking, trying to get away, but he was held firmly in place. The stretch of yet another hard cock pushing into his asshole felt unbearable. He was burning up. He couldn’t breathe. His heart was beating too fast.

“Oh no, Angel cakes, you’re going to stay right there. Give them one hell of a show, baby.”

Angel Dust was flipped on his back. His legs were lifted up to his chest and the onslaught continued. Valentino was standing over him. He smiled, all jagged teeth and malevolence. He took another drag on that infernal cigarette and blew out more of the smoke. Angel Dust couldn’t help but breathe it in, could help how it filled his lungs and stole his breath away. He was dizzy, everything hurt, and his stomach gave a harsh twist.

Time was meaningless. He couldn’t think straight anyway, couldn’t coordinate his limbs any more. He’d lost count of the number of men, the pain around his genitals and asshole one continuous spike of agony. 

Nausea wracked through him as he was lifted, positioned, used. He choked for breath between guests fucking his mouth, chest heaving with the labour of it. He tried to concentrate on keeping still, to try and control the feelings of dizziness and disorientation. He could do nothing about how every touch sent lances of agony through him. There were hands everywhere. He couldn’t escape.

He felt like he was dying.

* * *

While he was alive, Angel Dust had overdosed twice.

The first time had been a terrifying experience. He’d been overconfident, overestimated his capacity for cocaine, mixed it with copious amounts of alcohol in an effort to improve his image. He’d ended up fighting for breath while his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, head swimming, in more pain that he had ever experienced in his life. His sister had left him curled up around a pillow while she went to get help, and he’d flitted in and out of consciousness, catatonic, his body heaving through waves of nausea. He couldn’t even cough to clear his throat of the sticky, rancid vomit that coated it.

He’d been treated in the servant’s quarters, his father barring him from being brought into the house. “If he dies, he dies. At least he’ll be easy to clean up.” He hadn’t, but his father had nearly killed him once he’d recovered, thrashing him within an inch of his life when he’d discovered where the coke and booze had come from.

The second time had killed him.

Things were different in Hell. It was very difficult to actually kill a demon. It was possible of course – it had to be, otherwise the annual extermination would be meaningless – but there was an inherent resilience that came with living through eternal damnation. On the plus side, it meant you could get one hell of a high if you had enough money to fund it. On the other, it meant that the hangovers were a living nightmare.

Valentino’s substance wasn’t like anything that existed on Earth. Euphoric, addictive and completely life-shattering. It’s how he managed to build his entourage, stake his claim to a sizable portion of Hell’s drug supply line. No-one could produce what he could, and he made a point of only breaking it out for _special_ occasions. Sure, anyone could supply amphetamines, opiates, and hallucinogenics – but none of them came with a promise of maybe, if the deal was sweet enough, it might come with a little extra. It didn’t officially have a name; Valentino said that it would cheapen it. Behind his back though, it was known as _ruin._

It fucking felt like it now.

Angel Dust woke up slowly. Everything hurt. Fuck, he felt like he’d been hit by a truck. His head throbbed like it was in a vice and his stomach and throat felt like he’d swallowed a beaker of acid. He didn’t want to open his eyes even when he was conscious enough, trying to take stock of his injuries. He was cold. The concrete beneath him – spattered with blood, grime and gutter-swill - bit into his skin like icy knives. He shivered, and choked on a whimper at how much that made everything worse.

He was outside, tossed behind the club’s dumpsters like a used condom. Perhaps they’d hope he’d die in the night. It absolutely reeked; torn garbage bags were piled up everywhere, hellrats gorging themselves on the rot and decay inside.

He slowly managed to draw his long legs to his chest, hugging them close to his body. He felt bruised all over, and it hurt to breathe. He’d thrown up at some point; he could taste it, acrid on his tongue. It was almost enough to make him hurl again. Fuck, he was a mess. He needed to get home. His wallet was gone, his normal clothes too, leaving him in the jizz covered outfit he’d performed in. He didn’t wonder where his underwear had got to, but he probably didn’t want it back anyway.

After a few tries he got to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall for support. The rear door to the club opened and one of the bouncers peered at him from the entrance.

“You Angel Dust?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Don’t get fucking cute with me you two-bit whore. Got a message from your boss. He says: get ready for round two. Tonight, at the studio. Don’t you dare be late.”

Before Angel Dust could question him further – or ask for his wallet back – the door slammed closed and he was left alone. He felt broken.

It took him hours to make it back to the hotel. He had to be so fucking careful, choosing his route to avoid anyone who might see him as an easy target. It didn’t help that he had to stop to throw up if he moved too fast, or grab a nearby lamppost when his head spun. He just wanted to sleep. 

He had no fucking clue what time it was when he pushed open the doors to the Happy Hotel lobby. Husk was at the bar, but thankfully no one else was in sight. They probably didn’t even realise he’d been gone all night.

“Woah, you look like shit,” Husk said, eyes widening. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Don’t want to talk about it. Look, I don’t got any money, but I’d really appreciate it if you could fix me a stiff drink.”

“Screw the drink, you look like you need a hospital.”

“Well, I’m fresh outta luck on that one, ain’t I?” he staggered over to the bar and leaned heavily on the wooden surface. “Look, would ya open a tab for me? I promise I’ll have more cash tonight and-”

“Well, well well! Look what the cat finally dragged in! If it isn’t my favourite gonsil, Angel Dust!” Angel Dust winced as Alastor’s staticky voice filtered through the lobby. He hadn’t heard him come in. Husk silently poured him a whiskey and slid it down the bar with uncharacteristic sympathy.

Alastor didn’t waste any time. In a moment he was by Angel Dust’s side, turning him this way and that to get a better look at him. Angel Dust batted his hand away, for the little good it did. “My dear effeminate fellow you look half-seas over; I don’t suppose you over-indulged yourself last night and got yourself into a tiny little predicament, did you? I do hope, for your sake, that you weren’t engaging in behaviour that would bring the reputation of his fine establishment into disrepute, now, were you?”

“Leave me alone, I ain’t in the mood,” Angel Dust muttered, cradling the drink. He hated whiskey, but at least it would chase away the bad taste he had in his mouth. He could still see Alastor’s grin from the corner of his eye. It was concerningly wide.

“Haha, a first, I’m sure! But don’t take my words in jest – I am exceptionally invested in Miss Charlie’s ambitious, naïve and unbearably _unattainable_ dream, and I would hate for her first and only patron to have fallen off the wagon so soon! So, why don’t you tell your old pal Alastor just what happened and we’ll get to the bottom of this little quandary, shall we?”

He was close, unbearably close. Angel Dust could smell his cologne, the fresh laundry scent of his clothes. He looked so clean and well put together it made Angel Dust’s grime-coated skin feel even worse. He pushed him away, trying to create space.

“I said, fuck _off_!” Angel Dust snapped, regretting the words the moment they left his lips. Alastor was like Valentino, in a way; he was right on the money when he compared him to a pimp. They held themselves in similar ways, and had _expectations_ in how to be spoken to. There was a brief flicker as the perpetual radio static that surrounded Alastor grew louder, the room grew a little darker, and that jagged smile widened.

Then the moment passed and Alastor laughed again. He laughed easily, too much, almost as punctuation.

“So you did, so you did! Haha, I seem to have touched a nerve in asking about your whereabouts and activities. Though it doesn’t take a genius to hazard a guess, just by the smell of you!”

Angel Dust downed the drink in one go. “I’m going back to my room.”

“But of course! Don’t let me detain you! After all, I am sure I shall see you later and then we can continue our little chat – I’m confident that once you have come to your senses you will be much more amenable, and then, my dear, we may actually be able to make some progress!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Don’t count on it, he added silently.

Angel Dust walked away from him, feeling Alastor’s eyes boring into his back as he retreated up the staircase. Fuck, when did stairs get so hard?

* * *

The hangover from Valentino’s drug slammed into him like a fucking sledgehammer to the face, yet he wanted nothing more than another hit. It was designed like that, to be so instantly addictive that no matter how hard the comedown you always crawled back for more. You _needed_ more. It was impossible to forget, to replicate or replace.

Valentino wasn’t particularly subtle in how he kept such a long list of loyal customers.

Angel Dust was running out of recovery time. He was due at the studio in a few hours and he still felt like death warmed over. He wanted to have a long bath, medicate for the worst of the pain, and _sleep…_ but he didn’t have time. He had a headache. Everything _itched_ – it took all his willpower not to claw at his fur and tear it out in chunks.

The whiskey he drank earlier came back up as easily as it went down, burning and hot. Tears sprang to his eyes as he tried to control the heaving. Eventually all he had to offer was bile. He forced himself to clean up after, trying hard not to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He knew he looked like shit, knew he would have to fix that for tonight, but for now, he just wanted to at least pretend he was over the worst of it.

He wasn’t sure if he could do this anymore. He was… pretty sure that he couldn’t actually die from an overdose again, but it felt like Valentino had been testing that line, pushing him to some sort of limit. Forcing him to take his ruinous drug was only the beginning, though Angel Dust couldn’t wrap his head around what _else_ he could possibly have planned. But it wasn’t as though he had a choice. The amount he owed was burned into his mind – even with the _special privileges_ the guests undoubtedly paid through the nose for, last night wouldn’t even scratch the surface of his debt. He needed to go back, for his own sake. Valentino would be out for his blood.

* * *

He left it as late as possible to leave his room. Makeup had done a good job of hiding the worst of the bags under his eyes and the sallowness of his skin and fur, but he still felt like shit. He wished he had some uppers to help him through, but it was wishful thinking - there wasn’t a chance in Hell that anything like that even existed in the Hotel.

Even from the top of the stairs he could hear a familiar static sound emanating from the lobby. Sure enough, Alastor was sat at the bar, sipping a glass of wine, reading a book, and listening to an old wireless set that Angel Dust was pretty sure belonged in the 1930s. He didn’t look up when Angel Dust crept down the stairs, didn’t move at all save to occasionally lick his thumb to turn the page, smiling softly to himself.

Angel Dust tried to act casual as he made a beeline for the door. So far, he hadn’t been noticed-

“Ah Angel Dust, there you are!” Angel Dust winced, stopping in his tracks. Alastor put down his book. “I’m glad you’ve emerged at long last! You _do_ have a moment to talk to your good friend, don’t you? Hahaha, of course you do!”

“Hey Smiles!” Angel Dust said, trying to be as upbeat as he could, “I’d love to chat, but I’m running late, and the boss’ll have my head – you know how it is - so I’ll see you later! Buh-bye.” He blew a kiss and opened the front door. Alastor was immediately at his side. 

“Haha, but of course! I would hate to interfere with your time keeping. Tell you what, how about I take a little stroll with you, and we can chat along the way!” Angel Dust groaned in frustration but nodded. He didn’t have a choice. It was a common theme in his life.

It was already going dark outside. Alastor was smiling, and to Angel Dust’s surprise rested his hand at the small of Angel Dust’s back as they walked. It was such an innocuous, gentlemanly action, but it felt like a lead weight. Angel Dust tried to ignore it.

“So, uh, what d’you wanna talk about?”

“Why _you_ , my boy! I am fascinated by where you have been sneaking off to, and what activities are occurring to lend you to returning in quite frankly an appalling state.”

“You’re asking me what happens when I get fucked at the club?” Angel Dust brought a hand to his face as he laughed. “Hah, what do you want, for me to draw you a picture?”

“Hah, _no_. I am more interested in your motives, what drives you to return to _that business_ after two weeks of being free from its influence. Miss Charlie informed me earlier that you had given up this rather objectionable career – and all of its associations and connotations- as part of the terms and conditions of her Hotel?”

It wasn’t really a question. The trap was laid and Angel Dust couldn’t help but to walk straight into it.

“Yeah, well, turns out my boss disagrees, and is pretty keen for me to get back to work, ya get me?”

“Hmm, I see I see! So you _are_ working against your own redemption! Miss Charlie will be terribly disappointed…”

Alastor paused for a moment, thinking, and his face split into a smile. He was always smiling, but now there was something terribly predatory in it. “And you… are you happy to continue in that line of work? You don’t wish to be free of this terrible influence that tarnishes your immortal soul? If you continue down this path, who knows that sort of terrible fate will befall you.”

Angel Dust shrugged, purposely ignoring the threat lingering beneath the surface. “What do you care? Look, I know you make deals and shit, but I’m not interested, capisce? What the fuck could you offer me? I’m a world-famous porn star, I love blowing shit up, and I love getting’ high. These are my vices, and I can’t just stop just because some dumb bitch wishes on a star. So just back off, yeah?”

Alastor sighed theatrically, and let go of his loose hold on Angel Dust’s waist. He found himself instantly missing the warmth of it. It had been kinda nice.

“If you are sure, then I shall not interfere. It’s a shame, but I completely understand. Afterall, demons are inherently irredeemable, and you are the living proof! The next time I see Miss Charlie I shall inform her that we’d better look for a new test subject.” 

Angel Dust wrapped his arms around himself in a defensive gesture. He didn’t actually expect Alastor to back down so quickly. “Look, I only promised her I’d _try_. And I tried for two weeks. It’s probably the best she’d get with anyone. It’s not my fault.”

“You don’t have to convince me, my dear fellow; however, I see that we have stopped walking, so I assume we are at your destination. I shall take my leave, and bid you adieu.” He gave a little bow, and sharply turned on his heels, walking away humming the tune from earlier.

Angel Dust ran his hands through his hair as he watched Alastor leave. He wanted to feel annoyed at the conversation, angry at Alastor’s condescending attitude, but all he felt was guilt instead.

Fuck it, it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. He’d tried, and all he’d got to show for it was a black mark against his reputation and a fuckton of money problems. The Radio Demon didn’t understand, probably never had an addiction in his life, never had to sidle up to the strongest person in the room to get what he wanted.

 _Bastard_.

With an annoyed snarl he went into the studio.

* * *

Angel Dust wandered through the porn studio, passing the various rooms that were audibly in use, nodding a greeting to the Doormen standing guard along the corridors. Angel Dust was on first name terms with a lot of the staff, but the security guards were a dime a dozen.

Valentino wasn’t there but that was expected – while he’d happily make an appearance at the various strip clubs, being present for _filming_ was beneath him. As such, the studio was run by the lesser demons in his employment; they did the menial tasks like stocking and cleaning the rooms and dungeons, making sure the porn stars were in the right places, filming the right thing. It was a neat little operation.

It was a part of his job that he didn’t mind so much. He much preferred it to standing on some street corner somewhere turning tricks for chump change. Posing for the cameras, getting fucked within an inch of his life, it was practically work.

A twitchy, heavily made-up demon appeared at his side with a clipboard. She fluttered her long eyelashes at him.

“Angel Dust! Long time no see, honey! We were worried we’d never see you again. Where’ve you been?”

“Hey Mama, how’s it hanging?” he greeted, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “What room am I in today?”

She flipped through her chipboard until she found his name. “Let’s see, let’s see: oh you _poor_ boy. Valentino wants you in the Punishment Room – apparently, you’re filming some hardcore BDSM all afternoon! I’ve got you down for, let’s see… _four_ back-to-back sessions. He must have found a particular market for this little lot.”

Angel Dust groaned, rolling his eyes. He was still feeling delicate, his head aching with a hangover. This was a low fucking blow. “Yeah, yeah, I bet that’s the reason. Who’s my partner?”

“Just says “various” on here.”

“A gangbang too? Wow, aren’t I so fucking lucky today!”

Mama cast him a side-eyed look at his distinct lack of enthusiasm. “You okay sugar? You look a little… tired.”

“Oh yeah, I’m just peachy. Just not looking forward to letting some guys beat the shit out of me to get their rocks off.”

She laughed at that and gently punched his arm.

“Oh nonsense, most of it’s just for show. And you’re complaining now, but once you get into it you love it. Off you go, you might want to get started. And, just because it’s you, there’s a little something for you in your locker. Don’t say I don’t treat you!”

That got a smile out of him. “Thanks, Mama.”

* * *

The afternoon was fucking _dragging_.

Each session seemed to be worse than the last – Valentino had done it on purpose of course, deliberately found the biggest, most sadistic fucks he could to put Angel Dust through his paces. He took it as best he could, but everything just seemed harder than it usually was. The buttplug screwed into his ass for the first scene seemed a little too big, the spanking a little too hard; the whipping he endured in the second scene brought genuine tears to his eyes, and he was pretty sure he was going to get an honest to goodness black eye from a wayward punch during the gang-rape scene.

He was thankful for the blow Mama had left for him. Didn’t make the scenes hurt any less, but it put him in a better mood for it. Almost made him forget that he was still on the comedown from his ruin high.

“Would you cool it, you fucks? Makeup only does so much,” he complained after the third shoot. He swore his fur wasn’t hiding the bruising any more, making it lose its white lustre and look ashen and grey. “Like, I love being smacked around as much as the next guy, but this is getting ridiculous.”

“Just following the Boss’s orders,” one of the guys said with a smirk, entirely unrepentant. The other sniggered.

“Whatever. Let’s just get this last shoot over with. I’m tired and sore and don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be. What’s the last scene about?”

“It’s called “Making an Example of a Disloyal Twink,” read one of the demons, looking over the script. Angel Dust snatched the notepad from his hands, blood running cold for a brief second. He sighed in relief when he saw that was, in fact, the title of the video. He read the scene notes.

“So, I’m trussed up in the middle of the room and you, what, hit me while jacking off? That’s it? Nothing in it for me?” Angel Dust sneered in disgust. At least in the other scenes there had been an overt sexual element for him, something to force an erection over.

“Looks that way. Says here you’ve been caught cheating on your master and need to be punished.”

Angel Dust rubbed his temples, trying to ward off his headache. “Great. Well, it least it won’t matter if I already have some bruises. Let’s get going then.”

This part was always mechanical. Lights were adjusted, cameras moved and put in their correct places, checked for their focus. Angel Dust changed into his scene clothes – a pre-torn shirt, and small pair of underpants that did nothing to hide the shape of his cock. Ropes had to be tested, knots checked and double checked to ensure they didn’t cause undue injury. Angel Dust was patient as all four of his arms were tried above his head, pulling him up onto his tiptoes. He tested the grip, made sure everything could bear his full weight.

Satisfied, he nodded to the cameraman. The greenlight lit, the scene was rolling. Angel Dust let out a practiced wail – not too loud to be distracting, but panicked enough to sound convincing.

“Please - please let me go, I didn’t mean t’ cheat, it just happened,” he cried, throwing his head back to expose the long line of his neck.

“You know what we do to cheats around here,” said one of the men, his acting ability severely lacking. He grabbed a fistful of Angel Dust’s hair and yanked his head to one side. “Don’t you.”

“Please! I’ll do anything! Please, use me, do what you want, just don’t _hurt_ me!” To punctuate his point he shifted his weight, pulling the focus onto his long legs, spreading them. He earned a slap for his trouble; it was a little harder than a stage slap, but he rolled with it anyway, crying out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Not yet you ain’t, you gotta pay first. Then you’ll be truly sorry.” Angel Dust got into position, leaning forward on the ropes, pushing his ass out, presenting. He was entirely unprepared for the punch thrown his way. It landed squarely in his sternum and knocked the breath from his lungs. He doubled over in genuine pain.

“What the fuck?!” he hissed under his breath. “Watch what you’re-!”

He didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence when another blow hit him in the kidneys, head, stomach. He yelled out, reeling. The other men from earlier scenes circled him, punching and kicking where they could. Heavy boots scraped down his exposed legs, iron-like fists landed into the soft parts of his abdomen.

“Stop! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?!” He screamed between the blows. Another hit, this one to the face. His head snapped to the side, lip split with the impact, cutting on the jagged edges of his teeth.

“We’re _punishing_ you. Disloyal sluts get what’s coming to them.”

Angel Dust yelled to the camera man: “Stop them! This isn’t part of the script!”

“Looks okay from where I’m standing.”

“What?! NO!”

He tried to pull free from the ropes but he couldn’t slip his hands from the knots. He struggled in the bindings, trying to avoid the worst of the blows, but he had nowhere to go. His shoulders felt like they were on fire, burning with the strain of holding him upright when all he wanted to do was to curl up into a little ball.

A particularly hard strike landed on the back of his head and he genuinely saw stars, vision going dark for a second. He bit back a cry, tears falling onto the floor.

The filming light went red. The men stopped their onslaught, backing off, leaving him sobbing in the middle of the room. The door opened.

Valentino swept into the room followed by some twink Angel Dust didn’t recognise; he was tall and fair-haired, had a marionette-like look to him. If he squinted, Angel Dust could almost see a similarity to Charlie, if she was male and around 20 years old.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my little Angel-Cakes. How are you doing, baby? Have you learned your lesson yet?”

“Mister Valentino! Please, make them stop! I’m sorry!”

Valentino laughed. “Oh no baby, I couldn’t do that. You know why this is happening, don’t you? You have to learn your lesson. And what better way for you to pay off your debt by making _the most_ expensive sex tape it is possible to make?”

“… what… wh-” Angel Dust’s mouth filled with blood. He spat onto the floor. “What d’you mean?”

Valentino gestured to the young man by his side. “This is Celest. He’s your replacement. Oh, don’t look so surprised sugar, _no one_ wants to watch a 30-something has-been getting railed anymore – you’re past it, sunshine – but every Demon in Hell wants to watch a perfect, sheltered _angel_ of a boy getting fucked in every manner possible. And because of that, I have no need for _you_ anymore. So, I thought what better way to make you pay off your extensive debt than have you partake in your very own snuff film!”

Valentino laughed, cruel and deliberate. “Oh, you have no idea how happy it makes me to see that look on your face.”

“Valentino – boss, I’m sorry. Please – please let me-”

Valentino shushed him as he would a frightened animal. He ran a clawed hand through Angel Dust’s hair, stroking the swollen parts of his face.

“Shh, sweetheart. It’s too late. Here, as a parting gift from me to you, here’s something to really make you _feel_ it.”

Valentino made a show of lighting a cigarette laced with _ruin_. He took a long drag and blew a lungful of red smoke into Angel Dust’s face. He tried to hold his breath, but the smoke lingered in the air and he could already feel the initial effect. His skin began to tingle, become over-sensitive. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he felt himself start to get an erection. 

“That’s more like it. Enjoy your last few moments in Hell, sugar. I know I’m going to.”

With a menacing laugh Valentino left the dungeon, Celest in tow.

Angel Dust tried not to acknowledge the drug-induced changes in his body. How the room seemed brighter, how everything that touched him was amplified tenfold. The earlier bruises felt like brands; the welts from the whip felt like that were deep wounds. His teeth hurt, his head felt vague and unfocused and there was a cold, throbbing, burn where his hands should be. He groaned loudly, trying to centre himself.

He couldn’t fight it. It was stronger than him.

“Right, that’s our cue,” said one of the men, emerging from the corner of the room. He had a knife in his hand. A short, sharp blade. “Time to get on to the finale of this thing. Roll the cameras.”

Panicking, Angel Dust tried to wriggle out of his restraints once more. It might have been his imagination, but the ropes did seem slightly looser. He thought he could try to dislocate his thumbs, but even just trying created the most intense agony, centred on a part of his body that should, by all standards, be completely numb by now.

One of the men got behind him, held him against his body to hold him still, presenting him for the cameras. A hand stroked down the lithe form of Angel Dust’s torso, over the fur on his chest, lower to where his cock strained against his underwear.

“Look at this – always knew you’d get off on it.” He stroked him a few times, roughly, and Angel Dust moaned at the sensation. It was torturous, a mixture of intense pleasure and unbearable agony, all amplified by the terror that gripped his heart. He started to pant, gasp for breath as he felt himself building towards orgasm, suffocating on the drug. Before he got there his assailant abruptly let go with a laugh. He grabbed Angel Dust’s throat and squeezed. Black spots appeared in his vision, and it was like a jolt straight to his dick. He thrashed in his arms, but it was no good.

“No…!”

The grip was released and Angel Dust gasped, filling his lungs with much needed air. He choked, whimpering. His assailant gripped his chin, pulled his head back, exposing his throat.

“Any last words for the camera?”

The knife was brought to rest on his larynx, pressing inwards.

“Don’t… don’t fucking do this. _Please_.”

“Those are pretty shit last words, but you do you.”

The sting was instantaneous, the first drips of blood burning hot. It was the kick he needed. Fear, alarm, and self-preservation bubbled in his chest. In a split second he made a decision, something that he’d forgotten about until now; he manifested his usually-hidden third set of arms – complete with his tommy guns- and fired blindly into the room. He wasn’t sure he hit anyone, but it was enough to distract his assailants, allowing him to wrench his hands free, finally, from the ropes that bound him. 

Fuelled only by adrenaline he launched himself out of the door, stumbling, falling in his haste.

“Stop him! Don’t let him get away!”

He didn’t stop at the shouts behind him, didn’t look back or try to grab his things. He kept his finger on the triggers, firing behind him until he felt the clips ran dry. Valentino’s drug was coursing through his system, amplifying his surroundings, his head was so hazy he could barely see in front of him. Everything hurt so much. He wrapped his second arms around his middle to try and ground the worst of the pain, using his primary hands as much as his eyes to feel his way forward as he ran. The knife had nicked the soft skin on his throat, but not nearly deep enough to do any serious damage. He held up a hand to staunch the bleeding.

The studio was a maze, and he was making a racket, falling into the walls, his claws scrabbling on every surface. It enough to capture the attention of a couple of the Doormen. They picked up their nightsticks intending to block his path. Angel Dust was running out of fire power. He manifested two more of his limited gun supply and fired down the corridors to clear his path.

He might have hit someone, he might not; he didn’t care. He just had to get outside.

Angel Dust burst out of the studio and into the back alley. The door slammed open behind him almost immediately, the Doormen hot on his trail. With a panicked yell he threw himself into a sprint, knocking over every trashcan and discarded pallet he could, anything to slow them down. Broken glass shredded his bare feet as he stumbled, scrambling to get away. They had all the advantages – they weren’t high as fuck, weren’t beaten and bleeding, weren’t in a blind panic like a cornered wild animal.

Angel Dust rounded the corner and ran smack into someone, colliding with a familiar red coat. He recognised the clean, fresh smell. A spicy, masculine cologne. Hands were at his shoulders immediately, holding him upright and stopping them both from tumbling down to the concrete.

“Oh ho! If it isn’t my good pal Angel Dust! Just the man I wanted to see! I was hoping I’d run into you after you had concluded your business, and you didn’t disappoint. You definitely live up to your _widespread_ reputation!”

“Let me go, let me go!” Angel Dust yelled, frantically looking over his shoulder at the approaching Doormen. “Fuck, Alastor, you have to let me go!”

Alastor was smiling, grinning widely. He gripped onto Angel Dust’s upper arms in a way that held him firmly in position. Angel Dust tried to struggle but Alastor’s grip increased, bruising in its insistence.

“I don’t think I _have_ to do anything, sweetheart. Ah, it seems that those gentlemen have some business with you. Tell you what, why don’t we wait and see what they are after, hmm? I am _sure_ that if they have gone to the trouble of coming outside on this miserable night, they must be on an errand of grave importance.”

“Fuck!” Angel Dust swore loudly, eyes wide. Alastor had no reason to help him, but it still punched him in the gut to realise that he was so willing to work against him. He probably found it amusing to watch him suffer.

To his surprise, Alastor did let him go then, and for a scant moment Angel Dust thought about bolting into the night. Not that he’d get far, half naked and high as fuck, but his options were limited. He wasn’t prepared for Alastor to unbutton his coat with a flourish and drape it over his shoulders, bundling him up. It didn’t fit – Angel Dust was far too tall- but at least Alastor had broad shoulders. The smell – of laundry soap, cologne, _Alastor_ \- surrounding him was overpowering. He shuddered.

“Can’t let you stay like that, you’ll catch your death, as my mother used to say! Oh and, if you would be so kind, stand back a little. It is my best coat, and I would hate to see anything happen to it.”

“Oi, Get back inside, you pansy-ass faggot.”

The Doormen kicked a fallen pallet out of the way, making it splinter on impact.

“And what are _your_ names, good sirs?” Alastor interrupted, stepping neatly in front of the approaching Doorman, blocking Angel Dust from view. “Alastor! Pleasure to meet you.”

He presented his hand to shake, leaning on his cane and giving them a winning smile. The two Doormen cast each other side-eyed glances before folding their arms. They were huge, hulking demons, terrifying figured in the gloom. 

“And who the fuck are you?”

“Ahaha, what did you say? I’m sorry, didn’t you hear my introduction? I have been having _so_ many issues with this thing lately…” he tapped the microphone in his cane, the static increasing as he did so. He looked up with a smile. It wasn’t returned.

“That slut just shot up a studio and ran out of filming. He’s going to answer to the Boss.”

Angel Dust paled, shivering. He felt like he was going to faint. His head throbbed. He pulled the coat tighter around him.

Alastor laughed heartily.

“I see, I see!” He turned to Angel Dust with smirk. “You didn’t tell me the reason for our impromptu meeting was because you were in _trouble_. Oh, it sounds simply terrible - ruining a picture show of all things! It sounds like you made quite a mess.”

“Alastor-”

Alastor ignored the interruption, and carried on as if it never happened.

“Why, and you were so insistent in coming here! Betraying everything Miss Charlie had worked for in the process, no less. With that attitude it’s no wonder you failed at your rehabilitation so quickly! Loyalty is one of best traits a man can have, they say.”

One of the Doormen took a step towards Angel Dust, but before he could get close Alastor struck out his cane, barring his path. “Patience, patience,” he said, slowly turning his head at an unnatural angle. His grin never faltered at he turned his attention back to Angel Dust.

“Although… I’m quite confused. You void your redemption _specifically_ to pursue carnal pleasures, and then a few hours later, you completely sabotage your chances of ever working here again. Either that was your plan all along, or something _unfortunate_ has happened that has forced your hand…”

“Valentino – he said – he was going to- Please, Alastor, they’re going to kill me,” Angel Dust said, eyes pleading as he babbled through his explanation. He was finding it difficult to speak, his words jumbling up in his head. “For real. This isn’t about the work - I can’t – I don’t-”

“Ah, so you’re asking me for help, is that it? You’ve come to your old pal Alastor because you’ve decided that you want to be rid of this life once and for all, yes? Start afresh, start anew. Be rid of a life of humiliation, degradation and disgrace, and instead wish to have doors opened to opportunities beyond your wildest imagination?!”

Green lights flashed and shone, a lightshow where Alastor was securely at the centre. His voice sounded unbearably loud, booming in the alley. He extended his right hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Angel Dust hesitated for a split second. It felt like an eternity, with Alastor’s eyes gleaming a dark red as his teeth glittered in the light. Unspoken terms and conditions whipped them as they were locked in the moment.

He took Alastor’s hand, and they shook. Alastor laughed loudly. He turned his back to Angel Dust and faced the impatient Doormen.

“Yes! Very good then! In which case, I regret to tell you gentlemen that there has been a change of plans for tonight’s entertainment. As you just witnessed, as of right now, Angel Dust is no longer under the employment of Valentino, and is, in fact, _mine_. Run along and tell him, will you?”

“What the – fucking hell no! He’s coming with us!”

“Ahaha, I beg to differ. You know, I didn’t mention it before but, I do really hate those who can’t show a little more _respect_. It’s rather distasteful.” 

Not bestowed with intelligence nor self-preservation, one of the Doormen lunged. Angel Dust had never seen Alastor move so fast. His shadows grew in the patchy light of the alley, his limbs became all angles, sharp and jagged, and his _smile_ …

The earlier warning of standing well back had been a good one; blood and viscera arched through the air, painting the opposite wall a deep, sticky crimson. Screams followed, screams that were quickly swallowed up by the carnage that was playing out in front of him.

It was a blur. A dark, bloody, blur.

The remains of a body fell to the ground with a sickening wet slap. The surviving Doorman leaned heavily against the wall, gripping the bloody stump where his arm once was. He looked at Alastor with wide-eyed terror.

Alastor stood up and procured a handkerchief from somewhere. He dabbed the corner of his mouth, wiping away a little spec of blood that had slipped between his lips.

“Terrible.” He said to no one in particular, smiling. “The quality of meat these days, it’s simply terrible.” He took two menacing steps forward. “Run along then, old chap, I believe you have a message to deliver! It doesn’t do to keep your Boss waiting.”

The remaining Doorman scampered back into the studio, slamming the door closed behind him. The reverberation echoed through the alley. Alastor turned back to Angel Dust.

“Well then! Shall we head back to the Hotel? I have some errands I wish for you to-”

It was too much. All his strength sapped from him, the aftereffects of the drug taking affect leaving him feeling boneless. Angel Dust’s eyes rolled in his head and he collapsed to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is part 2! along with this chapter, I've also made a few other changes: added new tags (heed them!), but this chapter is a lot softer and fluffier than chapter 1; fixed some pretty egregious typos in the first chapter; also made sure I was more consistent on character's names and whatnot. 
> 
> Enjoy!

As Angel Dust awoke, he was aware of three things that battled for his immediate attention: one, he was in an extraordinary amount of pain; two, he was in a bed that was distinctly not his; and three, he could hear music. A tinny tune playing out of an old radio. The song was familiar. Pleasant. Comforting.

A stab of pain suddenly lanced through him. He groaned and curled around his stomach. He had a splitting headache, and the sheets were stuck to him. He felt clammy, sweaty, simultaneously hot and cold.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. He startled, and promptly fell unconscious.

* * *

He was being violently sick. His stomach was in knots as it tried to purge everything in his system. Decades of excessive drug use slammed into him, tearing him apart from the inside. 

Every single part of him hurt, every single nerve ending on fire. The blanket tucked around his shoulders bordered on agony every time it shifted. He was too cold to discard it.

He just wanted the pain to stop.

* * *

Soft piano music filled the room. He couldn’t make out the song - some sort of jazz, or blues- and he found himself lulled by it.

It reminded him of happier times. When things weren’t like this. He hugged his pillow, tears spilling from his eyes until sleep took him again.

* * *

He was back home. It was impossible, of course; the bolthole didn’t exist in Hell, and had long been demolished on Earth. But he was sure he was standing in front of it, looking wistfully at the familiar façade. He’d grown up here.

He walked up the path to the front door. He went to try the door handle, but hesitated, and knocked instead. There was no answer. The door sprang ajar. Holding his breath, he stepped inside.

The interior wasn’t as he remembered it, but a mess of neon lights and pounding bass. The first thing that hit him was the smell; it reeked of sex. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the bodies, the writhing, pulsing orgy of demons, fucking, being fucked, sweaty and slick. Grunts and moans filled the air, the slap of skin against skin, screams of pleasure. Stripper poles reached to the ceiling, each with a naked, writhing demon spinning around it. And in the middle of it all, lounging in his father’s leather wingback was Valentino.

“Boss…”

Valentino didn’t say anything. A lit cigarette hung from his long fingers, shrouding him in the deadly red smoke. He smiled. The beat of the music thudded in time with Angel Dust’s heartbeat. It was all wrong. He took a step forward. “Mister Valentino, what are you…?”

The red smoke emanated out towards him, snaking through the air, slowly at first but rapidly gaining speed. The tendrils manifested, turning to dark red tentacles; as they reached him, the darted forwards, binding his wrists and ankles.

“No! Stop!” He was effortlessly lifted into the air. Thrashing did nothing – his arms were pulled outwards, spreadeagling him. The more he squirmed and struggled, the tighter they held, constricting. “Stop! You’re hurting me!”

More tentacles wrapped around his chest, pulling tighter, tighter. He couldn’t breathe. He choked, coughing, spluttering. Every breath was less than the last, every inhale fighting against the unbearable pressure on his chest. He threw his head back to scream but couldn’t find the breath.

Valentino laughed.

The music continued to pound, but the beat was slowing, slowing, until it… stopped.

Angel Dust’s heart stopped with it.

* * *

“Wake up, wake up!”

A sharp slap across his cheek made Angel Dust gasp. He clutched his chest and took deep, shuddering breaths. His stomach was empty but he tried to throw up anyway, dry heaving through the waves of nausea. A gloved hand rubbed through the matted fur on his back. When he was done, he was left panting, breathing heavily. “Are you quite finished? My sweet, helpless fellow, you gave me quite a fright!”

Angel Dust turned his head and saw Alastor’s face close to his. He was leaning over him, smiling, but it was small thing compared to his usual grin. It didn’t last long – when they made eye contact it manifested into a full, toothy smile. “Welcome back to the land of the living! Well, not really, you’re still in Hell, but for a moment there I thought you were going to perish and I would be left wanting.”

“Where ‘m I?”

“Back at the Hazbin Hotel, of course! I had no idea which room was yours so we are temporarily located in one of the vacant ones. It isn’t as though they are in particularly high demand!” He laughed, as though he had made a particularly good joke.

Angel Dust rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the building headache. The previous night’s events came crashing back in an unpleasant rush.

“… fuck, my head hurts…”

“I am not surprised! Even without considering the beating you took; I understand withdrawal is a particularly unpleasant sensation.”

“Y’ get used to it.” His brain caught up with what Alastor just said. He started. “Wait, _withdrawal_? I ain’t been clean long enough. Fuck, what day is it? How long was I out?!”

“Oh relax. The excitement happened only yesterday. I have merely helped along the process of clearing the drugs from your system; I will not have anyone in my employ using illicit substances, after all.”

“You want me to go cold turkey?”

Alastor looked unbelievably smug. He idly turned his cane round in his hands. “Must I remind you that we made a deal? You’re _mine_. I was there for you when you needed me, and now, from this day forth you are bound in everlasting servitude to my every whim. You’ll be such lovely entertainment, I’m sure. I can hardly contain my excitement! But it also comes with certain expectations.”

Angel Dust wasn’t sure how he felt about the arrangement; relief was part of it, sure, but the severity of his action felt like a lead weight in his stomach. It was a number one rule in hell; don’t owe anyone anything. And here he was, owing his entire afterlife to probably the worst person possible: a notorious deal maker. Still, better than Valentino, right? He ran a hand over his face.

“Don’t look so blue. You have lived a life of sin, and a good run of the afterlife in the same way. Now is the time for your betterment!”

Angel Dust glanced at him through his fingers, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Don’t tell me you buy into the whole redemption thing?”

“Not at all. But you _can_ do better. And you will – your soul belongs to me now, an unbreakable and immutable contract. Hahaha, I knew this hotel would be an excellent source of entertainment and I wasn’t disappointed!”

* * *

Drug withdrawal fucking sucked. He’d be alright for a while but eventually the cravings would sneak up on him and he found himself tense and irritable. He’d tried smoking to try and take the edge off the worst of it, but nicotine only went so far. The excessive pile cigarette butts in his ashtray were testament to that.

The only good thing was that he at least didn’t have to go anywhere. At least, not yet. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but Alastor hadn’t lingered once it was apparent that it was safe to leave him alone. He’d said he was busy, that he’d call for him later, and that was the last Angel Dust heard from him.

Still, it gave him opportunity to make good on his earlier promise of treating himself to a proper bath. He took stock of his naked body as he sunk into the scalding hot water. He was covered in bruises; scrapes and cuts all over his skin, concentrated around his abdomen. His feet were sliced up from running through the alley, and he had a black eye. He’d got pretty lucky on the whole; nothing broken. The bruises would heal, and even the cut on his neck was starting to look better now he was clean. He sighed and tried to relax.

This wasn’t the end of it. He’d got away, but Valentino would be out for his blood. He was an Overlord, after all, and a powerful one. He effortlessly controlled a sizeable portion of the drug trade, held the biggest slice of the adult entertainment industry, and had eyes _everywhere_. He’d already tried to have him killed once, made up his mind that for all Angel Dust was a lucrative cash cow he was also a liability. _Disloyal_. It made him a target.

How the fuck did this ever happen? He’d only taken Charlie’s offer because of the perks – and partly to piss Vaggie off - and now everyone in Hell knew he’d tried to go clean. His boss had tried to kill him. His reputation was ruined.

It couldn’t get any worse.

* * *

“So, where are we going?” Angel Dust tugged at his suit jacket to smooth it. He’d not worn something like this since, well, since he was alive. He appraised himself in the mirror. As much as he was sure it was to cover up the healing cuts and bruises, he had to admit he looked fucking sharp. He grinned and pointed finger guns at his reflection. Alastor watched him, eyes alight with amusement.

“Just for a stroll, take in the sights of the Pentagram. There is no finer pleasure than letting one’s feet wander. People nowadays, they are so concerned with always having purpose! With productivity! It is a crying shame to let the good things in life pass you by.”

“O…kay…? So we’re just gonna walk the streets?” He raised his eyebrows. Alastor laughed.

“Not in the way you’re used to, no.”

Angel Dust smirked and held his hands out in surrender. “Hah, yeah, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just thinking… what if Valentino sees me? You don’t know what he’s like. He won’t let what happened the other day just slide. He’ll be looking for me, and-”

“Oh, I don’t concern myself too much with the affairs of other Overlords. Valentino especially. They have their business, and I have mine,” Alastor interrupted with a wave of his hand. Angel Dust opened his mouth to argue but was promptly silenced. Alastor gestured to the door with his cane. “Shall we?”

Angel Dust recognised an invitation when he saw one. He immediately slipped into a sultry persona, taking Alastor’s arm and pressing his long, willowy body against Alastor’s side. It’s what he would do with any other pimp.

Alastor flinched at the contact, looking uncomfortable. “Ahaha, what _are_ you doing?”

“What? This is why you _hired_ me, right? To be your latest arm candy,” he posed, accentuating his best assets, flirting with his eyes.

“Ah. No. Stop that. I expect you to amuse me without resorting to lascivious displays. I dislike frivolous acts of promiscuity.”

“Hah, no kidding? Then you’ve got the wrong demon, buddy. Even if you _don’t_ want me to suck your dick, I’m a pretty handsy guy.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Alastor smiled, “and if you are struggling with even basic manners, you will learn them. I am deeply uninterested in such acts and sentiments.”

Angel Dust rolled his eyes and stood up straight. Alastor didn’t quite fully push him away, but did guide his hands to rest in the crux of his elbow. He gave Angel Dust a gentle pat. “There, that can be the compromise.”

“Oh! Touching your arm! How scandalous! What will everyone think!” Angel Dust laughed at Alastor’s mildly annoyed expression. “You’d better not be planning on treatin’ me like a woman. I’m just as much a man as you are.”

“Ahahaha, oh no, perish the thought! I wouldn’t _dream_ of it.” He looked down at their linked arms. “I am merely making it perfectly clear where my boundaries lie when it comes to physical contact from you.”

Angel Dust rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Lead the way, _boss_.”

“Alastor.”

“Eh, if you say so.”

* * *

It was easy to believe there’s nothing to worry about back in the safety of the Hotel. Now that he was outside, Angel Dust was suddenly very aware of every drug dealer, rent boy and hooker they passed. He tried to keep his head down, make himself invisible, but he couldn’t help but flinch at every wolf whistle and lewd comment.

It didn’t help that Alastor had specifically planned for them to be _seen_. Or, at least, it seemed that way. He didn’t walk quickly or with purpose – he sauntered, stopping every now and again to look in a shop window or watch a fight break out on the street. Angel Dust noticed that Alastor attracted a lot of attention; it seemed that every demon they came across stopped and stared, though if they met Alastor’s eye they hastily made it look like they were minding their own business.

If Alastor noticed anyone else he didn’t let on. He seemed completely at ease, humming along to himself. Angel Dust vaguely recognised the tune.

“Y’know, I think I know that song; I’ve heard it before. I … think I heard it when I was asleep. Dunno though. Might have dreamt it.”

“Really? How interesting. Ah, we are here. Are you hungry?” Alastor asked as they passed a café. It was a small shop tucked between a gun shop and a brothel, and it looked ridiculously out of place. Angel Dust didn’t know cafes like this existed in Hell.

He shrugged; he hadn’t eaten in a while, but he still felt pretty delicate, his stomach tied up in knots. “Mm, sure,” he said, non-committally.

He’d noted the quick change of topic, and filed the information away for later.

Alastor smiled and opened the door for him, gesturing with his cane. Angel Dust rolled his eyes, tempted to resist on principle. Alastor didn’t react to his indignation, and took a seat by the window. A nervous waiter was immediately by his side. They were the only ones in there.

“Black coffee, if you would be so kind. Oh, and few of those delightful pastries I spy by the counter.”

“And for you, sir?” The waiter asked.

“I’ll have coffee too. Lots of cream and sugar.”

“Right away.”

“Is this what you do? Walk around, eat sweets in cafés all day?” Angel Dust asked, glancing out of the window. In the distance an explosion boomed, leaving a billowing mushroom cloud on the horizon. “Seems really boring to me. Ya know, I expected more. Conning people out of their souls and all that.”

Alastor laughed.

“And what is wrong with enjoying a coffee from time to time? There’s a time and place for business. Surely you didn’t spend all your time, ahem, entertaining gentlemen?” He nodded to the waiter, returning with their drinks and a small plate of _pignoli_. “Even in Hell, there’s space to enjoy the simpler things. Demons can’t live on vice alone.”

“Hah, you say that, but I’ve managed for decades.” Angel Dust raised his coffee to his lips and watched Alastor over the rim. He grinned. “I had a busy schedule. Everyone wanted a piece of me.”

Alastor took one of the pastries and elegantly nibbled the corner. “And look where it’s got you! Just imagine how much of your suffering you could have avoided if you didn’t let yourself get swept away by your greed. Not that you’re alone in that of course; there are always those who are… dissatisfied. Those who want more than they have. Or need.”

“Is that how you managed to topple all those overlords? Vaggie said that you came out of nowhere one day and just… well, completely fucked things up for a lotta people.”

That got a genuine laugh.

“Something like that, though I doubt that our po-faced associate phrased it in such a manner. I can spot a soul in dire need of my services miles away, and it isn’t always the weak and pathetic who want what I can offer them.”

“And what’s that?”

“The same thing I offered you, of course! Freedom. I set people free from their humdrum, quaint little lives, from the ruts they have carved for themselves, their bad decisions. All in exchange for their eternal servitude once they wind up here in Hell. It’s poetic, don’t you think?”

Angel Dust looked thoughtful. He got the feeling Alastor was choosing his words carefully. Deliberately misleading.

“What about me? I mean, what do you _want_ from me? I’m pretty famous for one thing – don’t you want me to show you what I can do?” He licked his lips, provocatively, tracing his tongue over his sharp teeth.

Alastor sipped his coffee.

“All in good time, my dear fellow, all in good time! You’re in no rush for me to call in your debt, trust me.”

“Sounds to me like you’re avoiding the question.”

“Oh no, not at all. Here, you must try one of these, they’re _divine_.”

The small plate of pastries was pushed towards him; Angel Dust obediently took one. The almond flavour took him straight back to his childhood, when his _nonna_ would make them for Christmas. He couldn’t help but moan slightly in pleasure.

Alastor was grinning at him. The bastard must have done his homework into his past. Angel Dust cleared his throat and put the rest of the pastry down. He felt slightly embarrassed. “We done here?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Well, no, but you know this ain’t my scene.”

Alastor laughed again. “It will be. Relax a while, enjoy your coffee. We have an eternity to spend together, after all.”

* * *

The rest of the afternoon continued much of the same. Out of habit Angel Dust had tried to slip into his usual role, the one he had to fulfil whenever he was paid to be someone’s bitch in public, but Alastor always quickly corrected him with a sharp word whenever he struck a sultry pose or overtly flirted with him. By the third time his hand was firmly removed from whichever bit he’d tried to grope Angel Dust admitted to himself that he was pushing his luck. He stopped trying, lighting up a cigarette to keep his hands busy.

Instead, he used his time to catalogue as much information he could about his new _owner_. He wouldn’t tell Alastor this, but in a way, it was no different than being with a particularly fussy john, learning his particular likes and dislikes.

Alastor didn’t engage much with the chaos of Hell for example. He didn’t like being crowded, lurking instead in the shadows whenever people gathered. He watched the events play out as they will, ever smiling, staticky music softly playing. He wasn’t above throwing in a few petty cruelties, but by and large he walked, watched, and was seen in return.

“Don’t’cha wanna offer them a deal? You could turn the tide of that fight,” Angel Dusk asked as a particularly nasty brawl broke out right in front of them. Someone had their head curb stomped into the concrete; another was clutching their stomach from where they were stabbed. “It wouldn’t take much to convince them.”

“Oh goodness no. There’s nothing of value here,” Alastor said with a wave of his hand. “So many souls aren’t worth my time. Come on, I know a wonderful garden nearby where the flowers will be in full bloom.”

Alastor enjoyed reminiscing about his past; he had seen so much, achieved so much until his untimely death. From what Angel Dust could gather, they were alive at roughly the same time; he reckoned he was in his late teens when Alastor was most active, and in his early 20s when he died – and their worlds had a lot in common.

He wondered if he ever heard Alastor’s voice on the wireless, if he’d ever made a deal with his father. It wasn’t impossible.

“You cannot begin to imagine how envious I am that you got to live through the entirety of Great Depression!” Alastor said, plucking a bloom from a nearby rosebush. He twirled the stem around in his fingers, grinning as the bloom began to darken in his grasp. “And a second Great War too- you must have been witness to so much pain and suffering! My, it must have been really something.”

Angel Dust shrugged. “Eh, I didn’t get involved with politics. Pops was a bootlegger during prohibition, so I was drunk for a lot of it. Or high. I barely remember the 40s at all.”

Alastor neatly tucked the rose into Angel Dust’s breast pocket, admiring how the blood-red flower was stark against the grey pinstripe suit. “Such a waste. A crying shame.”

“Eh, I didn’t think so at the time.”

They continued their walk across the Pentagram; Alastor immediately rested his gloved hand on Angel Dust’s waist, keeping him close, not letting him stray too far.

For all Angel Dust was not permitted to touch him, Alastor had no such reservations with his own tactile nature.

* * *

Night fell, and it felt like every denizen of Hell was out in force. Sure, it hadn’t been exactly quiet during the day, but there was something about the sun going down that was a cue for every whore, drug pusher and pimp to roam the streets. Angel Dust felt scrutinised, and it was ruining his previous good mood. The cravings returning in full force didn’t help either. He wanted to go back to the Hotel, but Alastor had other ideas - he watched the throngs of people spill out into the streets and _smiled_.

They were strolling through the streets when Alastor’s head suddenly tilted to one side, as if he heard a sound in the distance. Angel Dust stopped and listened; he couldn’t hear anything. Without warning Alastor strode off, temporarily leaving Angel Dust behind. He had to jog to keep up.

“Woah woah woah, Boss? Alastor? Where are you going?”

“Fantastic news! I have just… noticed… someone who I have been wanting to run into for a very long time. It will be a jolly good idea to pay him a visit!”

“An old ‘friend’?”

“Oh yes, very much so! Someone who I did so much for when he was alive– I bet he’ll be delighted to see me again.”

Angel Dust doubted that very much. He grinned – finally, he’d get to see his new boss in action. He’d always wondered how deal makers did their shit.

Their destination was a bar a few streets over, a seedy dive in a particularly dangerous part of town. Alastor pushed open the blood-spattered door and the effect were immediate; the entire room fell silent. Demons froze with a drink halfway to their lips, holding their breath. Others, in the middle of playing billiards, paused mid stroke.

“Good evening gentlemen, ladies. My, what a delightful place you have here. Oh! Don’t mind me, my companion and I are just here for a drink. Bartender! Two glasses of your finest, if you would be so kind. And not the usual swill you usually serve; I like to keep rat droppings out of my drink.”

The air was tense. The bartender did as he was asked, choosing two of his cleanest glasses and pulling pints from a very different tap he had been serving from up until now.

Everyone was watching them. Angel Dust straightened up his suit and scanned the room for any familiar faces. Alastor dutifully paid for the drinks and walked over to a table at the far end of the room.

A nervous looking demon was sat there, a massive misshapen bovine figure who, in the right circumstances, would be extremely intimidating. As Alastor approached he seemed to be trying to shrink into himself, become as small as possible. His so-called friends – or at least, the other demons he had been sat with – quickly scampered away.

Angel Dust found himself eager to watch what would happen next. He wasn’t the only one. Alastor sat opposite the demon, leaning forward on his cane, his voice full of static.

“Taurian! It’s been so long, my good fellow. How have you been? Are you enjoying the delights of Hell? Is it everything you wanted? Was the fame and riches worth all of _this_?”

“What do you want?” Taurian asked, voice full of suspicion.

“What does any creditor want, really? I am here to tell you what my expectations are, now that it is time for your repayment.”

“Fuck off,” the demon snapped, defensively gripping a nasty looking knife in his belt. He glared at Alastor and his lips curled. “I’m being punished enough as it is. I’ve lost everything. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Oh, I think you have woefully misunderstood the terms and conditions of our contract. ‘In exchange for unrestrained access to worldly pleasures, when you die your soul will belong to me to serve for all eternity’ – it was really, very simple. And since you are here, I can only assume that you played your cards terribly _wrong_ somewhere.”

“Like fuck I’m going to do anything for you. You ruined my life. My wife… my kids… they… you…” he spat and in a second was on his feet, brandishing his knife, the tip pointed straight at Alastor’s forehead. He didn’t even flinch, lips pulled into a grin, eyes shining. Angel Dust couldn’t help but feel incredibly impressed.

“Am I to understand that you are reneging on our deal?” Alastor asked, tilting his head to one side. The bar was silent. Angel Dust could hear his heartbeat hammering in anticipation. Everyone was waiting for Taurian’s response.

“ _Fuck_ your deal,” Taurian roared “I’m going to fucking kill you, and the fucking whore you brought in with you!” He slashed with his knife but it didn’t connect. Instead, the blade soared through the air and pierced the wall opposite.

“No, I don’t think so.”

The bar seemed to grow darker, shadows deepening, growing longer. In the middle of it all was Alastor, a red glow among the gloom. The shadows became jagged, gained eyes and teeth, and in a flash, they darted towards Taurian, tearing into him at lightning speed.

They didn’t kill him, but they did twist and contort him in very painful ways. Angel Dust winced at the sound of it; it sounded very _wet_. Bones snapped, skin tore, blood dripped onto the floor. No one intervened, no one tried to tell Alastor to stop. No one dared.

After a few moments, Taurian was lying a broken heap on the floor. Alastor shook his head in disappointment. He leaned over Taurian’s body and used his cane to lift his chin.

“I will not be double crossed. I will not be threatened. Now, this is your last chance; I’m calling in my debt. Report to the Hazbin Hotel tomorrow – you know the one, don’t you? The one from the news? - 6am sharp. And do fix yourself up, you’re no good to _anyone_ like this.”

Humming, Alastor turned on his heel and swept through the bar. Everyone got out of his way, falling over each other in their haste.

Once they were outside Angel Dust was surprised to find himself pulled close, Alastor guiding his hands to rest at the crux of his elbow. It was a gesture Alastor had initiated before – an innocent touch that he seemingly tolerated – but it felt different now, possessive. Angel Dust could feel small tremors where they touched, a current of pent-up energy. Alastor was gripping onto him with surprising intensity, nails biting into Angel Dust’s skin.

He realised that he’d never seen Alastor actually angry before. He was still smiling, but there is something hot burning beneath it. “Alastor? You okay?”

“But of course! It’s just business. Why wouldn’t I be?” The fury in his voice was evident; not aimed at him, but thrumming through Alastor’s entire body.

“Nothing. No reason. Uh, hey? Can I ask you something? Okay. So, uh, that demon - if he owed you something, why didn’t you go find him sooner? Like, as soon as he died? It wouldn’t have been that hard to find where he lived. And then you wouldn’t have had to...” he trailed off, not sure how to phrase the incident in the bar delicately.

Alastor smiled wider, but it still didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh no no, that would be the height of rudeness. No, it is far better for me to chance upon him once he had settled in a bit. Let him feel that he’d gotten away with it. Not to mention, a little _humiliation_ goes a long way. Can’t have him thinking he has friends who will back him up, that he has a fighting chance against me. Some demons are so delusional when they are in their own territory.”

Angel Dust nodded, innocently. It had briefly crossed his mind that maybe he’d be able to ask Charlie to help him if things… went wrong... with Alastor, but it felt a bit stupid to think that now. He rested his hand on top of Alastor’s gloved one, giving him a reassuring squeeze. 

* * *

Alastor’s mood improved on the walk back to the Hotel, which Angel Dust was grateful for – he’d had his fair share of clients who took out their anger on him and he was relieved that Alastor didn’t join that number. If anything, Alastor seemed to want Angel Dust to be closer than usual, and was unusually receptive to Angel Dust touching him.

The incident at the bar had taken something out of him; Angel Dust wondered whether it was the fight, or the audacity of someone trying to back out of his deal that had done it. Or maybe it was something else completely. The second they were through the doors to the lobby, Alastor had bidden him goodnight, and stalked off somewhere.

Not quite ready for bed yet, Angel Dust went to the bar and perched on one of the barstools.

“No freebies.”

“Oh, come on Husk. I didn’t even ask.”

“No, but you’re gonna. I’m a bartender. I know these things.”

“Alright, I was. But it’s only ‘cause I _still_ don’t got any cash. But, Alastor does. You can put this on his tab, he won’t mind.”

Husk’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Do you think I have a _fucking_ death wish? I’d rather pay out of my own pocket. Okay, stop looking at me like that, you can have _one_. And this is the last of it. No more until you pony up some cash.”

“You’re an angel in feline form.”

“Don’t push your luck, kid.”

Angel Dust’s sweet-talking resulted in a bright red cocktail – complete with a _maraschino_ cherry – being pushed his way. He gingerly sipped it, enjoying the pure hit of sugar that accompanied the alcohol.

“What gives?” A voice demanded, cutting through his quiet enjoyment.

“Hmm?” Angel Dust twirled the cherry stalk around his finger as Vaggie approached him. She looked pissed off, but what else was new? Maybe it was because Charlie was nowhere to be seen. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, babe.”

She ignored the ironic endearment.

“You and Alastor. You’ve been getting pretty chummy lately, and you’ve wearing a suit. It’s suspicious. You’d better not be trying to seduce him.”

“What?” Angel Dust threw his head back in surprised laughter. “Hah, oh, no. Nothing like that. Gee, can’t a guy change what he wears?”

“Not when they’re parading about in what _you_ usually wear, no. What are you up to?”

He popped the cherry into his mouth in an unnecessarily sensual way, fluttering his eyelashes even though his lips stayed twisted into a smirk.

“You _really_ don’t wanna know.”

“Oh no, now I really do.”

Angel Dust’s smile grew. She brought this on herself really; she was just so easy to _tease_.

“Nah you don’t. All you’ll do is get mad, yell at me, try to yell at him, and realise that the entire thing is pointless, and we’ll be back here anyway. So, let’s just cut to that part, yeah? Tell you what, I’ll go against my code here and have Husk here get you a drink. You look enough like a man anyway; I could be fooled if I squint _real_ hard.”

He kinda felt sorry for her. He could see she was fighting between wanting to yell at him for being jerk, and also burning with curiosity. He let her stew, watching her face twist and turn. He managed to tie his cherry stalk into a knot with his tongue while he was waiting.

Curiosity eventually won.

“What did you do.” She was serious. No bluster, no hair-trigger temper waiting to explode at him. Well, they’d all find out sooner or later. Wasn’t as though it was a secret.

“Oh nothing. Just a little, tiny deal between him and me.”

There was a stunned silence. Her mouth opened and closed in incredulous shock as she fought for the words. Angel Dust took a sip of his drink. He liked cocktails, the more sugary, the better. There was something _insolent_ about drinking one when someone was trying to be mad at you.

“You did WHAT?”

“I made a deal with the strawberry pimp, no biggie. Hey Husk, that sounds like a cocktail, you should patent it.” He laughed as Vaggie’s face flushed a dark, furious red.

“No big...?! The Radio Demon _is_ a big deal! I can’t believe, after everything I told you about him…” Vaggie raked her hands through her hair, pulling it at the roots in sheer frustration. She rounded on him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “ _You_ promised that you would rehabilitate. _You_ made a deal with us first. What in HELL possessed you to give him any power over you?!”

“That you’re even asking me is precisely the reason why,” he said, shrugging as he turned away from her. He made a show of rubbing the tender spot where she’d prodded him. She had sharp fingers. “But, since we’re talkin’ about this, let me ask ya: where were you last night?”

“What? What has that got to do with anything? We were here at the Hotel. We had dinner; me and Charlie, we were-”

“Yeah, yeah; and, where was I?”

Vaggie wracked her brains, a slow, painful realization drawing over her features. The angry flush faded and she looked exceptionally pale.

“So, not that you care about my wellbeing or anythin’, but Valentino tried to kill me, live for the cameras. Angel Dust’s final performance. Punishment for checking in at the…” he giggled, “’Happy Hotel’ and leaving him without a revenue stream.”

She blinked rapidly, processing what he was saying. Her voice caught in her through and she stammered out her response.

“I… I didn’t…”

Angel Dust grinned.

“He didn’t try to do it quick neither. Pumped me full of his drugs, had the living shit beaten outta me, messed me up real good. Took pretty much everything I had. You said you’d protect me if I agreed to helpin’ you. ‘Free room, free meals, and protection from hell’s denizens’ you said. Well, it didn’t mean nothing when it came down to it.”

“So… you… you went to Alastor.”

“Nah, nothing like that. If it makes ya feel any better, I didn’t mean to run into him. Alastor was just… there. He said he could help me. And I was desperate.”

“…what was the deal?”

“Oh, I dunno. I just told him I didn’t want to die.”

“And in return?”

“My eternal soul bound in servitude. Sounds kinda kinky. Really, I’m into it. Aww, don’t look so cut up - it’s not so bad. I’m just going from one pimp to another. At least when this one gets tired of me, he’ll make it quick. I can’t imagine Alastor trying to film me getting’ my throat slit for a sex tape.”

Vaggie swore under her breath. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Go ahead, for all the good it’ll do. A deal’s a deal, toots.” He finished his drink, making a show of yawning widely and stretching his arms above his head. “This has been fun and all, but I’m going to bed.”

* * *

It felt like ages since he’d last been in his room. Fat Nuggets greeted him as he kicked his shoes off, snuffling around his ankles. He picked him up, giggling as his face was peppered with little licks and kisses. 

“Hey boy. I know, I know, I’ve been gone a while. I’m back now.”

He stripped out of his suit, taking a moment to hang it up properly, and collapsed on the bed with an audible moan. Fuck, today had really been something. He felt exhausted, sore, and also inexplicably _wired_. Something about Alastor’s demeanour and having to deal with a very irate Vaggie had left him feeling highly strung and excitable.

He’d fucking kill for some weed, anything to help him to relax. The drink from earlier was helping a little bit, but it had only been a sugary cocktail, and had barely touched the sides. He needed more liquor to _really_ get a buzz, but he probably wouldn’t be able to get any more out of Husk this evening.

He slipped under the covers and stared up at the ceiling instead. He wasn’t exactly good at being introspective, and his thoughts were racing. Vaggie kinda had a point, as much as he was loath to admit it. He had probably fucked up in accepting the deal. It was just… hard to think that when his life had been on the line. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from having his soul owned by Alastor, but so far it had been a hell of a lot… _easier_ than working for Valentino. He hadn’t had to push anything, or sell his services for a quick buck. Hell, Alastor hadn’t even asked him to join in when he was fucking up the demon at the bar. He’d just expected him to watch.

That’s what the afternoon was all about, he supposed: it had been a show. _Look at what life will be like if you obey me_ , it had said, and _look at what will happen if you double-cross me_. It wasn’t exactly subtle. Not that Angel Dust had any intention of betraying him, it was just… he wondered just strict a boss Alastor would be. He hated going cold turkey over _anything_.

Maybe he’d let him score a bit of coke for good behaviour. Let him get laid every now and again, as a treat. Surely that’d be okay? He knew Alastor didn’t _like_ the idea of sex, so probably wouldn’t expect him to suck his dick on a regular basis, but Angel Dust had _needs_.

His mind caught on that particular point, replaying it like a broken record. How far would his restrictions go? He could understand no more filming, and no more whoring himself out, but would Alastor object to masturbation?

It didn’t count, surely? His body was his own, right?

The mere thought of sex made him hard, a talent he’d honed after years of working in the industry. The cameramen loved him for it; it made their jobs so much easier. He grinned to himself. Welp, he might as well finish what his mind had started.

His hand trailed down his torso. He shivered, skin oversensitive and tender. The healing wounds stung as he traced his fingers over the edges of cuts and bruises, but it only served to heighten the sensation. He took his cock in hand and gave it an experimental stroke; even that light contact made him sigh in pleasure. It didn’t take much to convince himself that he needed this, that it would take the edge of his pain, flood his body with endorphins. He deserved a bit of pleasure. Alastor wouldn’t object to that at least?

Well, he wasn’t going to ask permission. Though he had to admit, the thought of Alastor finding out that he was doing this was its own thrill; he wondered what it would be like to have those red eyes boring into his, demanding obedience…

Fuck, it was one of his favourite fantasies; someone beautifully dominant and assertive making his body come alive under their attention. He thought of the delights of relinquishing control, the feeling of being taken apart piece by piece, completely at their mercy. He thought about being painstakingly brought to the brink of orgasm but no further, getting closer and closer to the edge but not allowed to spill over it, until he could hold back no longer, losing himself to the feeling of powerlessness. He thought of being lavished with attention, driving him crazy with _want_.

As his orgasm began to build, he found himself catching – unsurprisingly- on thoughts of Alastor in those scenarios. It wasn’t entirely unexpected; Alastor was hot as fuck, formidable yet _charming_ in a way that was distinctly out of fashion. Angel Dust suspected that he’d be good at giving him _exactly_ what he wanted, too. Not that it he ever would - he was so completely off the cards, wholly disinterested - and that just made Angel Dust want him _more_.

He’d always had a thing for powerful, unattainable men. Go figure.

He couldn’t stop imagining Alastor now. It was as though he was the centre of every single desire Angel Dust had ever had. Fuck, he wanted this. He _needed_ this.

His mind supplied little details to his fantasies; things that made everything feel all the more intense; the clean, fresh smell of Alastor’s clothing – how he would be fully clothed while Angel Dust was naked beneath him. The spice from his cologne – the woody scent mixing with the warmth of his skin. Imagining how his gloved hands would feel around his cock, the roughness of the leather contrasting with the softness of his naked body.

And, more than anything, he thought about how Alastor’s eyes would gleam with intense desire, how they would burn into Angel Dust’s as he pressed his cock into him.

In the distance he was sure he heard music, a tinny, static-laden sound from an old wireless. It made him gasp, move his hand faster, fully in the rhythm of it. It was the final push he needed. He breathed Alastor’s name as the pleasure peaked, crashing over the edge. Whining, moaning, gasping in delight, he shivered as the spilled over his hand.

It felt incredible; the rush of endorphins that followed were exactly what he needed. He rode out his orgasm until he felt wrung out, spent, and so absolutely satisfied. He felt a familiar drowsiness settle over him once he’d done and for the first time in a while, he let himself succumb to it. It was a luxury to go straight to sleep after coming.

If he strained his ears, he could still hear music coming from somewhere. He pulled a pillow close, hugged it to his chest, and let himself fall asleep to the sound of the radio.

* * *

Angel Dust slept in late, and found it odd to not wake up with a hangover. The cravings were still there, and he was still aching from his bruises, but he felt better than he otherwise had these past few days.

He wasn’t surprised to wake up with an erection, his body insisting to be pleasurably manhandled. He took himself in hand almost immediately; he wasn’t very good at denying himself anything. It explained a lot in his life, really.

Last night had been such a wonderful fantasy; a little encore wouldn’t go amiss. Afterall, the likelihood of anything like that actually happening was so slim, it paradoxically made it even more fun to imagine. He could let his mind wander, completely free from any consequences. It isn’t like Alastor would be the first guy he’d jerked himself off over.

As he settled back against the pillows, he wondered what it would be like to wake up next to the Radio Demon. Would he wake up hot and hard and wanting to pound him into the mattress? Or would he be slow to rouse – perhaps the sort who’d enjoy a sleepy morning blowjob to start the day?

Angel Dust gently stroked himself, without any of the pent-up energy he’d felt last night. He imagined it was Alastor’s hand stroking him, firm and slow. He’d be deliberate, knowing exactly what he wanted. That was what he did, wasn’t it? know your every desire and give it to you… for a price. And right now, Angel Dust wanted to ride his cock. He’d take it slow, keep it sensual. Let himself feel everything. No rushing.

Even as he let himself run with the fantasy; it soon became clear that his hand wasn’t going to be enough. He didn’t want to come like this. He forced himself to stop, to dig through his collection of sex toys until he found one of his favourite dildoes. He took his time to prepare himself, stretch himself on his fingers; he was already so close that even that sensation threatened to tip him over the edge. He held back, trying to ignore the tremors building in his belly.

He slathered the toy with lube, and gently eased it in, torturously slow. The stretch made him screw his eyes closed, gasp in pleasure. Fuck, it felt incredible. He tried to imagine it was Alastor, how he’d he talking him through it, peppering him with pet names and endearments. His legs trembled with the effort, sliding the toy in and out with minute movements until eventually – finally – it bottomed out.

Sweat was beading on his forehead, his breathing heavy and his heart hammering in his chest. It felt intense, hard and deliberate, pressed against his prostate. He gave an experimental movement, and whimpered at the jolt of pleasure that lanced through him. He couldn’t hold back. He was too far gone, too close already.

He flicked a switch and the entire thing began to vibrate.

He came immediately, untouched, body tensing up as he bit back a groan of pleasure. He forced a fist into his mouth to muffle the sound. Wave after wave, the pleasure was intense, impossible to endure, blissful agony.

He hugged himself, doubling over as he rode out the sensation, mind going blank.

He kept going until his legs threatened to give out on him. Finally done, he carefully removed the toy and collapsed onto the bed, panting, trying to catch his breath. _Definitely_ one of the better mornings he’d had in a while.

Once he’d recovered, and moved the dildo to the bathroom to clean up later, he lit a cigarette out of habit, and leaned back against the headboard. He felt amazing in the afterglow, the world taking on a rose-tinted view.

There was a sharp knock at his door. Angel Dust was still completely naked, but he wouldn’t have got very far if he had any qualms about nudity. He grinned.

“Come in,” he called, figuring that whoever it was, he was about to get a laugh. Maybe it would be Vaggie? Oh, that would be fucking hilarious, having her coming into the room, seeing his toy collection, the heavy-duty bottle of lube; it wasn’t exactly subtle what he’d been up to… or Charlie! She could stammer her way through an explanation as to why perverted behaviour wasn’t good for his rehabilitation while he was still obviously in post-orgasm bliss. 

There was a pause and Angel Dust wondered if who-ever-it-was wouldn’t come in to his room out of principle. They were _private_ , after all. But, a moment later the door was pushed open and the room filled with the sound of static.

Alastor had worked out which room was his, then. Angel Dust’s heart skipped a beat.

“Angel Dust! Are you – Oh! I didn’t realise you… should I…. you’re… ahem! My apologies, I didn’t realise I had _awoken_ you, considering it is long past noon. I suppose you needed the sleep. Did you sleep well?”

Angel Dust was greatly amused at how Alastor didn’t seem to know where to look, and was definitely flushing. He’d never heard him stammer before, and he couldn’t explain why it delighted him.

Angel Dust fought to contain his manic grin. “Mmm, very much so.”

Alastor was still staring. Pushing his luck, Angel Dust yawned, stretching as he did so, sprawling out among his pillows with his arms above his head, his legs trembling with the effort of it. The comforter moved so that while he was covered, it was only in the most technical sense. All it would take was a little shift, a casual brush of his arm and he would be fully exposed, his body on display. To be admired, appreciated. Alastor was watching the movement, transfixed. Angel Dust couldn’t blame him; he knew exactly how good he looked, hair dishevelled, sleep soft and looking so _inviting_ … 

Alastor seemed to want to say something; instead, he cleared his throat and looked away: “glad to hear it.”

His embarrassment didn’t last long. He turned his attention back to Angel Dust’s grinning face and the moment was lost. Well, he still looked a _little_ flustered. That had to count for something. “I’ve been waiting patiently for you to emerge. I wanted to inform you that I wish to attend a show this evening. I know of a delightful jazz bar on the other side of town where the music is exceptional.”

“You don’t gotta ask my permission, boss. I’ll do whatever you say.” His flirting didn’t work a second time. Alastor waved him away, replacing his flustered expression with his usual smile. Angel Dust felt a little disappointed.

“Hahaha, oh I wasn’t asking, sweetheart, I was stating my intentions.”

The pet name came easily from him, and Angel Dust realised that he really liked it when Alastor called him things like that. He was pretty sure it was just a verbal tick, a throwback from how he spoke back when he was alive, but it sounded so much nicer coming from him than when Valentino used the same terms of endearment. Alastor almost sounded like he meant them.

“Sure, sure. Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure I dress up real pretty for ya. It’s a date.”

Alastor promptly left, leaving Angel Dust to let out a pleased sigh. He’d been joking in calling it a date, but he had to admit, he was kinda looking forward to whatever Alastor had planned.

* * *

The jazz club wasn’t somewhere that Angel Dust had been to before. It had been built underground – a sensible move honestly, considering how huge swathes of the city were destroyed on a regular basis – and reminded Angel Dust of a speakeasy. Which was stupid; Hell encouraged drinking to excess, had no reason to hide it. Maybe it was for the look of the thing. 

Alastor was escorted to a table near the dance floor immediately, the waitstaff clearing out previous occupants in a hurry. They didn’t look happy- well, they were fucking furious- but stopped their bitching when they saw exactly who was approaching their table.

Angel Dust declined the seat opposite Alastor, and instead took the one immediately to his right. It felt more natural. Plus, he was pretty sure he was developing a full-blown crush on him. Some of it was definitely an attraction to the protection and power he had over him, but he couldn’t deny that there was something personal about his feelings too. Something about how Alastor had looked at him when he’d walked into his bedroom.

The first part he’d openly admit if anyone asked; the second, not so much. It helped that Alastor behaved in a way that made it easy to pretend. Sure, he was particular with his attitude to touch, but he was so easy with his words. When he reminded Angel Dust that he would be spending eternity with him, it sounded like a promise, not a threat.

Alastor flagged down a waiter with a smile. He ordered a bottle of very expensive champagne.

“Woah, what’s the occasion?”

“None other than a celebration of my good mood and good humour. Why wait to enjoy something, is what I always say! If a man can’t order a bottle of his favourite sparkling wine, then well, that isn’t a life worth living!”

He caught Angel Dust’s expression. “I am not entirely without weakness, my dear. I am a demon in Hell, after all. Not everything I stand for can be associated with violence and suffering. And tonight, I find myself in delightful company.”

The cork popped and a glass was poured for Alastor. Angel Dust was surprised when one was poured for him too. He gave a very small “thanks” and blushed as their hands touched.

He was a fucking porn star, and here he was, acting coy over touching hands. Alastor was rubbing off on him, and not in the fun way. 

The band began to play and the change in Alastor was immediate. He tended to look impeccably relaxed in most situations, but with a glass of champagne in his hand and his eyes half lidded, his smile looked genuine. He tapped his foot to the beat and seemed to be genuinely lost in the music.

After a few songs, and a bottle of Champagne later, he stood abruptly, and offered his hand to Angel Dust.

“What?”

“Let’s dance! You know how to dance. I shall accept no argument. The world is a stage, and I wish to perform in it!”

 _Of course_ Angel Dust could dance. He was Italian-American; he knew how to fucking _party_. He thought back to every family gathering, every wedding where everyone let their hair down after a bottle of wine or two – there were some things you just never forgot. Still, it was a far cry from his usual dancing since becoming a slut in Hell. His clients much preferred it when a pole was involved. Angel Dust wasn’t one to leave anyone disappointed. 

The band were playing the blues, something soulful, sensual. It was the music that condemned an entire ethnicity. The devil’s music. It was so _perfect_ to hear it here.

Alastor removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. The sight of him made Angel Dust’s mouth inexplicably go dry. What could he say? Alastor looked damn good in a suit, and even better with his suspenders on display, forearms exposed. It was probably the most of his skin Angel Dust was likely ever going to see, he damn well was going to appreciate it.

He let himself be pulled onto the dance floor. Alastor was in his element, confident and poised. He pulled Angel Dust close, taking one hand in his, resting the other at the small of his back. Angel Dust couldn’t find it in him to mind that Alastor was the one leading. It felt right. This close, pressed chest to chest, Angel Dust could feel Alastor’s heartbeat. Despite the music holding a slower tempo than the previous jazz standards, his heartbeat was wild, excited, and Angel Dust found himself responding in kind. They were so close, bodies moving together, touching at every available point.

Angel Dust wanted to get even closer. Wanted to show Alastor that this was affecting him. That it was making his pulse race and his breathing come in small breathy gasps. He caught Alastor’s eyes; they were burning, half lidded. His smile looked hungry. Angel Dust suddenly felt weak at the knees.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Alastor murmured, his voice soft enough that only Angel Dust could hear. This close there was hardly any of the radio feedback that usually accompanied Alastor’s voice, just his natural timbre.

“Hmm?” Angel Dust could only make a small noise in his throat.

“Your attempts at seduction. They haven’t gone unnoticed.”

Before Angel Dust could ask him if he liked what he saw, the music swelled into its finale. Alastor twirled him around, dipped him deeply. Momentarily off-balance Angel Dust gripped Alastor’s shoulder, but it was an unnecessary gesture. Alastor was stronger than he looked.

His face was above him now, ever smiling, ever looking like he was going to eat him whole. It sent a full body shiver cracking down Angel Dust’s spine. The room, the music; it all faded into the background. Their eyes locked, and Angel Dust couldn’t look away.

It would take nothing to tilt his chin upwards, to seal the deal with a kiss. But instead, he was transfixed staring into Alastor’s eyes. Alastor had to be the one to do this. He was the one with the power here, and not for the first time since the start of their arrangement Angel Dust could feel it.

“For all your little display earlier was quite the sight to behold, I much prefer this,” Alastor purred, inching his face closer. “You look delightful.”

“Alastor,” Angel Dust whispered, not trusting his voice. “Please…”

Alastor didn’t kiss him. It was the height of cruelty. He grinned and straightened up, pulling Angel Dust upright with him. He felt dizzy for a second, and extremely self-conscious. He was blushing deeply.

It was stupid. It was just a dance. Just a glance. It was just the feeling that he had just experienced one of the most intense moments of his life, even when it was, by comparison, one of the tamest.

Alastor laughed and guided him back to their table.

“And that, I think, is enough excitement for one evening.” Alastor said, picking up his coat and cane. “This bar is one of my favourites, I make sure to patronize it when the mood takes. We should return here, if it pleases you.”

Angel Dust nodded, pulling on his suit jacket in silence, barely trusting his voice not to wobble all over the place. “I’d like that.”

He felt at odds with himself. He should be cracking lewd jokes right now, making fun of the situation. Or just plain getting drunk. But instead, he found himself frantically thinking how he could make Alastor look at him like that again. _Your attempts at seduction haven’t gone unnoticed,_ he’d said. Surely, he wouldn’t have said that if he were being let down? It isn’t like Alastor hadn’t told him to fuck off before when he’d got too handsy. It could mean something. He wanted it to mean something.

Lost in his thoughts Angel Dust didn’t notice that two women watching him intently from the shadows. Didn’t notice that they were waiting for him to be out of earshot before one of them fished out her cell phone from her cleavage, and make a call.

He didn’t hear her laugh and say: “Daddy? We’ve found him! You were right - you’ll never _guess_ who we saw him with…”

* * *

Angel Dust had no reservations about jerking off the _moment_ he was in the privacy of his room. He could barely keep his hands off of himself, driving himself towards a climax that made his toes curl, left him panting with the intensity of it.

He was fucked. He was well and truly fucked. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alastor. The Radio Demon. The owner of his eternal soul.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this. Sure, he’d had _crushes_. Gone home with a fellow porn star after filming together in the studio, or had a client taking him to their bed, and lost himself to the idea of being able to have something _more_. And he couldn’t deny that he’d never felt a thrill at hanging off some Sugar Daddy’s arm, someone who would shower him with gifts, drugs, booze. But usually, he’d just jerk off and the reality of his situation came back and he’d realise that it wasn’t something he wanted. Not really.

Relationships weren’t easily formed in Hell. Everyone was a sinner, everyone was working through their eternal punishments; it was so much safer to keep a healthy amount of cynicism, selfishness and self-preservation.

Falling in love was almost unheard of. So why did his heart feel like it was about to burst from his chest?

He was mortified to realise that even with his post-nut clarity Alastor didn’t leave his mind. His desires were as strong as ever. He was wanting.

He could hear music again, and he was sure it was the same sound he’d heard the other night, the same haunting piano refrain. This time, the lyrics were clear. 

> _You intoxicate my soul with your eyes_
> 
> _Though I'm certain that this heart of mine_
> 
> _Hasn't a ghost of a chance_
> 
> _In this crazy romance_

The music cut off suddenly, abruptly. He let out a shaky sardonic laugh, scrubbing his hand over his face. Even the radio was taunting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is the jazz standard/popular song, "You Go To My Head," written in 1938, and popularised by singers such as Bea Wain and Billie Holiday. I thought it was cute :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there was going to be more to this chapter, but it was getting really, really long, so I thought it would be better to post what I had, and then post the big finale after it had the due care and attention that it deserves :D It means this chapter is very... plot heavy?? (as much as this fic has a plot i guess)
> 
> Got some new tags, so take a look (especially if eye/ ear/ mouth trauma is a nasty trigger for ya - it's not that explicit, and there's no long term negative effects to any of the violence, but the implication is there)

“Uh, hey? Angel Dust? Can I talk to you?”

Angel Dust looked up from idly playing on his phone. Charlie was hovering nearby, looking nervous, trying her best not to intrude on his personal space but still managing to be right up in his face anyway. Molly used to do something similar when they were kids. It was cute.

He gestured to the seat next to him. “Sure princess, pull up a chair. Not seen ya in a while. You good?”

Charlie broke out into a huge smile, practically squealing with excitement.

“Yes! Oh my goodness, I haven’t told you! We got our _second person_ checking in to the Hotel the other day! It seems some people are actually interested in their redemptions! I mean, after how terribly the news slot went, I didn’t think anyone would want to… not that I thought this was failed venture or anything… but you know how it was… ahem! Anyway! I was gonna do a big announcement about it, but things have been _so_ busy.”

She spoke quickly gesturing with her hands, not stopping for breath. Angel Dust tried to act pleased, even though he was highly suspicious of anyone who would willingly check into a place like this.

“ _No way_! Well, I’m happy for you. You need to succeed with at least one demon, right?” he winked at her, inviting her to find his own failures funny. Her face fell almost immediately, shifting to an expression of uttermost concern.

“So, about that… Vaggie told me. I’m so, so sorry.” She cleared her throat and took two of his hands in hers in what he supposed she thought was a caring fashion. He looked blankly at her, raising his eyebrow in mock confusion.

“Told you what, princess?” he asked sweetly, pulling his hands free. He knew perfectly well where the conversation was going, but it was fun to watch her overexplain everything. It was why she bombed on TV so badly.

“About you selling your soul… to the Radio Demon…”

She looked so miserable it was funny. Angel Dust laughed.

“Oohh… oh yeah, that.” He shrugged. “Eh, shit happens. What’s done is done.”

“Don’t you feel even a little bit of regret?” Charlie asked, gently. Angel Dust pretended to think about it.

“Nah, not really. I dunno how much Vaggie told ya, but I didn’t exactly have a whole lotta options available to me.”

“So, you didn’t go to him out of spite? Just to make me fail?”

Angel Dust sighed. Charlie might have lofty ideals about Heaven and stuff, but she was still just as selfish as any other demon. He didn’t blame her – altruism didn’t exactly get you very far in a place like this.

Still, she was looking at him like a kicked puppy, with her wide eyes and soft, hesitant voice. He took pity on her.

“No, princess. I didn’t. I mean, _okay_ so I fell off the wagon a bit first. But that’s what happens when Valentino gets involved, y’know? I didn’t expect it to get so bad. But before I knew it, I was actually in trouble, and Alastor was… I needed his help.”

“ _I_ could have helped you.”

“You weren’t there. That’s all it comes down to; no big motive on my part.”

She took his hand in hers again and this time he let her. She looked so earnest, and about to burst into tears. “I know I keep on talking about it, but, what about your redemption? I don’t think you’ll be able to go to Heaven now, you know, on account of him owning… your soul…”

Angel Dust gave her hands a squeeze, and her eyes met his.

“If it makes ya feel any better, I didn’t exactly have any high hopes about makin’ it anyway. Don’t look so sad. It’s okay. He’s actually not a bad boss.” He smiled a bit at the memory of the past few days. “Actually, I think he’s probably better for me than Valentino. I’ve been clean ever since the deal; no more fucking guys for money either.”

“You mean, he didn’t encourage you to return to your life of sin?”

“Not unless you count _drinking coffee_ as sinful. We did go out to a jazz club the other night; that was a lotta fun. Oh, and he absolutely annihilated this guy in a bar. You shoulda _seen_ it. One second he’s havin’ a nice chat, and then next-”

He gestured with his hands, trying to demonstrate exactly how shadows tore out of the background like malevolent ink, mangling the demon beyond all recognition. He had a lot of hands – it wasn’t a bad mime.

He caught Charlie’s expression. She was looking at him funny, and not in a ‘I-am-unimpressed-with-your-depictions-of-violence’ way. She was _smiling_ , clutching her hands to her mouth, as if she was trying to contain her sudden realisation.

Angel Dust narrowed his eyes at her in deep suspicion. “What?”

“You… you look happy.”

“Well, yeah! You really shoulda seen it. So much style! He’s a _monster_.”

“Uh huh, uh huh, what else?”

“What? Huh?! Whaddya mean ‘what else?’ – I just told ya he practically _ripped a guy in half_ and you’re wanting more gory details? Fuck me, bitch, you’re stone cold, ain’t ya.”

She clearly wasn’t listening to him. Her eyes shone with glee, her expression one of pure excited delight. She looked like she was vibrating with happiness.

“Oh! This is _amazing_! Angel Dust are you… in love?!”

“What? Fuck no!” He blushed and turned his head away. She was still staring at him. He waved his hand, dismissively. “You’ve got it all wrong - I can’t feel that shit. Hey, you smoking something? Can I have some?”

She ignored him, making high-pitched squeals in the back of her throat. It was like talking to a wall. A wall with a fucking siren on it.

“I _knew_ there was something good deep inside of you! And this is it! You’ve fallen in love with Al-.”

He coughed, trying hard mask Alastor’s name, and to quell the feeling of being caught. “Shut up, will ya? You’re making a scene. And will you stop sayin’ that word! I ain’t. It’s just a crush, an infatuation. It’s as seedy an’ tasteless as anything else I get up to.”

“I can’t believe it. Oh! I have to tell Vaggie! This could be your ticket to Heaven after all! It is proof that you are capable of something _pure_.”

He stood up suddenly, chair scraping over the tile. Looming over her, he pushed his face close so they could see eye to eye.

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare. Lady, we’re _demons_. Me, him you – the whole stinking lot of us. What you think I feel about Alastor don’t mean shit. We ain’t going _nowhere_. This hellhole all we have, and I’m fucking making the best of it, alright?”

Her face fell again. He sighed, straightening up and running his hands through his hair. “Look. He doesn’t know, I don’t want him to know. Don’t say nothing to nobody, you get me?”

“Okay…”

“Good. Now I got somewhere to be.”

* * *

He didn’t have anywhere to be. Normally he’d be working this time of day, or having fun somewhere with his hard-earned cash, but he was kinda stuck on both fronts, trapped in the hotel, feeling tense and agitated. It was Charlie’s fault. She might have been right about his feelings, but she was fucking wrong about it being his ticket out of here.

Nothing _good_ could come of this. His situation couldn’t get any more ridiculous. He had to keep it quiet. It wasn’t as though he could make a… relationship… work. Even if Alastor was willing to spend to time with him, flirt with him, he had his own motivations, and they weren’t driven by something so nauseating as falling in love.

Charlie had better keep her fucking mouth shut. _He_ wasn’t fucking stupid enough to tell Alastor, but she _was_ , with her naïve ideas of true love fixing everything. What if she told him…?

Angel Dust raked a hand through his hair; he tugged at the roots, grounding himself. He had to calm down. He had to trust that Charlie would be true to her word, believe that she truly valued _honesty_. It would be fine. No one had to know anything.

His feelings were entirely his problem, and he wanted to keep it that way. He could carry on doing what he was doing, spending time with Alastor during the day doing whatever boring-ass thing he wanted to do, and then he could come back to his room and jack off in the knowledge that _this_ was _his_. Everyone would happy with that arrangement.

An annoying voice in his head whispered unhelpfully that jerking off was probably the only action he was ever gonna get, now that he was owned by someone who had a repulsion to casual fucking. He tried to ignore it. At least that was a problem he could deal with.

Thank fuck for sex toys.

* * *

Angel Dust’s fractious mood had settled long enough that even the blissful rush of orgasm did little to displace it. He’d pulled out all the stops, replayed his favourites fantasies in his mind’s eye, used his favourite toys, even put on one of his own porn tapes for the ambiance – and Charlie’s words had invaded his thoughts at every opportunity.

It was distracting; he’d get himself right on the brink of pleasure, and then he’d hear her voice squealing that he was _in love_ and he’d be hit full force of the reality of his situation, and the helplessness of it. It didn’t stop him from coming, but it did leave him feeling a little lonely afterwards. It was a bittersweet thing, thinking of how much he would give for Alastor to want this too; not only to want to bend him over his desk and rail him into next week, but also return his feelings.

Both were unlikely to ever happen. 

Finished, he spawled on his bed, long legs swinging, idly flicking through TV channels. Nothing was holding his attention. Every single TV station was an ad for drugs, porn, gambling, alcohol. All things he technically wasn’t allowed to do. It was so tedious.

The hotel was unnaturally quiet. Alastor was nowhere to be found; as much as Angel Dust had told himself that he wasn’t going to start following him around like a lost puppy, he _had_ looked for him earlier- just out of boredom. Husk hadn’t provided any entertainment - or any more free drinks - when he’d gone to chat to him either, and it would have to be a cold day in Hell before he’d willingly go looking for Vaggie or Charlie.

He needed to spend time with someone. He never did well when he was alone with his thoughts. He tended to make bad decisions when he was bored. Perhaps Cherri Bomb would be free. She was always up for wreaking havoc somewhere.

He called her. She _finally_ answered her phone the moment before it clicked through to voicemail.

“Hey Angie, not heard from you in ages!” She sounded breathless, and there was a lot of background noise muffling her voice. “What’s up?”

“Cherri! Babe! This a good time?” he asked, hoping to Hell that she was going to say ‘yes.’

“Uh, kinda? Since fucking _edgelord_ Pentious was ground into a fine powder, his territory has been completely up for grabs – I’m just making sure I get a piece, you get me?”

Another explosion went off, and she let out a peal of laughter.

“Man, that sounds like a blast,” he said, giggling at his own pun. 

“You want in? I could use a hand tearing that washed up old snake a new one.”

Angel Dust thought about it for maybe half a second. One the one hand, Valentino was still looking for him and going outside was risky. On the other, he was bored as fuck, and nothing bad had happened since Alastor had made it clear he worked for him now.

It was an easy decision really. “Babe, I thought you’d never ask. I’ll be where you are in twenty minutes.”

* * *

It became clear to Angel Dust within about five minutes that Cherri Bomb had been planning her revenge on Sir Pentious for some time; she packing some serious heat. Whatever territory he had previously owned, she wanted all of it as payment for trying to muscle in on her turf. She’d brought a huge chunk of her arsenal for the express purpose of completely taking it over – bombs, incendiaries, bullets; shells, and even fucking grenades for her brand-new grenade launcher.

She picked it up from her munitions stockpile and tossed it to him; he easily caught it. The heft of it felt so satisfying in his arms.

“You ain’t playin’, are ya?”

“What can I say? You want it, I got it – let’s fucking _go,_ babe!”

Watching her was poetry in motion. She was chaos incarnate. Nothing was sacred, nothing off limits. The bigger the building, the larger the explosion, and fuck anyone who tried to stop her. She somersaulted, backflipped and cartwheeled her way through destruction of her own making. Smoke billowed out behind her like a cloak; her hair looked like it was on fire as debris rained from the sky. She was so _happy_ , and it was infectious.

They passed around a cheap bottle of booze between them, giggling as they planted yet another bomb on the roof of one of the tenement buildings. The view over the city was incredible from here; smoke, fire and ash mixed with the garish neon of the billboards, the air reeking of burnt plastic and ozone. 

Angel Dust was enjoying himself. Maybe he’d missed out on a calling somewhere; there was something so satisfying about watching a building being reduced to rubble, about watching shards of glass fly through the air as windows blew out.

“Gotta say Angie,” Cherri Bomb said as she stacked plastic explosives against a critical weight bearing support structure. “I figured you’d died for real this time. It has been all over the west side of the Pentagram that Valentino is fucking pissed with you right now.”

Angel Dust was silent for long enough that she paused with whatever wiring she was doing. She glanced over to him, searching his face. He shrugged. “What, it’s true?”

He looked out over the horizon. “…yeah. You remember when I told ya that I’d been playing nice, staying at that Hotel?”

“Yeah? Sounded fucking lame.”

“Valentino really wasn’t happy about it. Like, actually pissed off. I got in a lotta trouble.”

“No shit? So, what’re ya gonna do?” She turned back to her work, her tongue poking between her teeth as she concentrated.

“Eh, I’m dealing with it. Hey, you ever heard of the Radio Demon?”

She stopped completely, staring at him. Her eye was blown wide in genuine surprise.

“HEARD of him? Fuck, dude, he’s infamous. What does he gotta do with anything?”

Angel Dust smiled to himself. “Well… he kinda owns my soul now. Y’know, for helpin’ me with Valentino.”

“Wait, holdup. Wait-wait-wait-wait! You _sold your soul_ to The Radio Demon to get back at Valentino?? Are you trying to start a major war or something? Fuck me, I know you get up to some crazy shit when I’m not around but this is probably the biggest, craziest most fucked up shit I’ve ever heard you do. Fuck man. so, how’s it workin’ out for ya? What’s he got you doing?”

“Eh, not much. I mean, I kinda still have to be on my best behaviour. He doesn’t do drugs, he hates sex, and he has this weird idea of _what’s proper_. His words, not mine.”

“Oh man, he sounds worse than the chicks you were with before.”

“It ain’t so bad. He’s got one thing going for him-”

“Big dick?”

“Hah, I wish I knew. Nah, he’s fucking _powerful_. Like, I swear he can eviscerate someone just by looking at them, and fuck me, you should see what he can do with these shadow tentacle things.” He waved his arms in the air. She laughed.

“You are _such_ a kinky bitch. Well, as long as you’re okay.”

“Yeah.”

He took a swig from the bottle as he watched the sky light up. Things were… mostly okay. The arrangement was fine, he just had an added complication.

A phone rang, a small vibration coming from Angel Dust’s pocket. He’d missed the call. A few of them actually, all from the Hotel.

“Looks like my fun’s over,” he said, waving his cell to Cherri Bomb. She looked up from fiddling with a detonator.

“Aww, already? We were so close to capturing this part of the city! You don’t want to at least watch this building go up?”

“I can’t babe. It’s the killjoys back at the hotel. I gotta go.”

“Urgh, those bitches don’t give you a break, do they? Well, it’s been fun. Catch ya later?”

“You got it.” He winked at her, clicking his tongue before heading to the edge of the roof.

They’d completely wrecked the staircase and the fire escape, so he had to be a little creative in getting down. He took his time, carefully scaling the wall; eventually he managed to clamber down the brickwork, sliding down the drainpipe into an alley between two of the tenement buildings.

His feet had barely touched the ground when he heard a voice behind him.

“Well, well, well! If it ain’t Valentino’s missing twink.”

Ah, fuck. He’d gotten unlucky. The self-preservation instinct from the last few days came back in full force. He didn’t recognise the voice so he turned around slowly with an exaggerated sigh, though his pulse had spiked at the sound of Valentino’s name.

“Oh shit, how long did it take ya to come up with that one? I can tell I’m dealing with a real big, tough guy right now.”

At least he knew how to talk the talk.

Five huge figures loomed into view, each sporting crude weapons, dressed like apocalyptic rejects. “You are either going to come with us willingly, or we will take you by force.”

Angel Dust was mildly offended; all this time he’d assumed that Valentino knew what he was capable of, and would inevitably send in the big guns after him. _This_ was insulting. It was one thing to send in no-name goons armed with only nightsticks and baseball bats when he was high on some drug, but another when he was stone cold sober.

He took out a cigarette and lit it, unimpressed.

“Aha, now, you see, lotsa people make this mistake,” he said, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke in their direction. “People think, oh he’s just a porn star – how tough can he be? And they think they can, I dunno, try to make me to suck their dick as a freebie. Or maybe not give me the goods after I’ve paid for them, fair and square. Or like you fellas, think they can make me go somewhere I don’t wanna go. But-”

He pulled out six firearms, one for each hand, all aimed squarely at his assailants. “- you see, this ain’t my first rodeo. I don’t work for Valentino no more, and I ain’t going nowhere. Am I speakin’ in a language you fuckin’ dipshits understand yet?”

They wordlessly lunged at him, a surging mass of bodies and blunt weapons. “Guess not.”

He fired, bullets ricocheting. He laughed despite his underlying nervousness, watching as the bullets lit up the alley, filling it with gun-smoke and shrapnel. He danced over the debris, twirling, twisting, curling through the carnage. His fingers never left the triggers.

One of the goons grabbed him by the scruff of his neck; he twisted in his hold and shot him at point blank range. It was hard to keep your grip when you were missing your entire stomach area. Another took a swing at his legs with a crowbar, and Angel Dust effortlessly leapt over it. He fished out one of Cherri Bomb’s grenades – he knew he still had one left - and dropped it right at their feet.

It went off like a firework, dust filling the air as flames licked the sky.

The dust settled, and his assailants slumped against the brickwork. Blood splattered up the walls, pooling on the asphalt. Angel Dust watched the bodies for movement - demons were resilient and being riddled full of bullets wasn’t necessarily a death sentence - but no one moved. The bodies bled quietly, dark puddles of blood running into the gutter. The carrion feeders would be here soon, the cannibals, and any other creature seeking an opportunistic meal. They’d sort out the… mess.

“Is that all ya got?” He asked, more to the empty air than anything. He didn’t get a proper reply, though one of them did moan softly.

Huh. That was… surprisingly easy. He knew he was good, but those goons went down faster than whores in a brothel. Still, he shouldn’t stay here. The longer he stayed out in the open, the risker it was. More would come.

He headed back to the street, keeping a watchful eye over his shoulder as he did so. He tried to look nonchalant, but in Hell that was suspicious as fuck.

“He’s over there!” 

And, there it was. The backup, the muscle. Doormen from the club, various bouncers. There were so many of them; more than he wanted to deal with right now. They had noticed him, were calling after him.

They broke out into a run.

Angel Dust sprinted down the street as though his life depended on it, ducking down an alley to cut across to the street over. He didn’t notice that he was heading towards Valentino himself. That he was going to run straight until him, until it was too late.

“Angel…”

Hands grabbed his shoulders, sharp nails digging into the meat of his upper arms. He looked up into mirrored sunglasses, and a malicious grin.

He didn’t even have time to panic, didn’t have time to yell or struggle.

Everything went dark.

* * *

Angel Dust was tied to a chair, all six of his arms bound tightly behind his back. He hadn’t had the time or opportunity to withdraw the ones he usually kept hidden. The tightness of the bindings was making his fingers turn blue with the lack of circulation.

He didn’t know where he was. A warehouse of some kind, some non-descript building that was officially part of Valentino’s drug production, but in reality, used more often to get rid of… problems. Angel Dust was mafiosi. He knew about places like this.

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in you, Angel.”

A gloved punch struck the side of his head. It made his ears ring.

“I gave you everything. Made you into what you are. And _this_ is how you repay me?”

Another punch. This one hit the bridge of his nose; it made a horrible _cracking_ sound, and hot coppery blood poured over his upper lip.

“I must have been wrong to give you a second chance. I should have killed you the moment you ran off to that Stupid. Little. Hotel!” Valentino’s words were punctuated with strikes, blows which hit Angel Dust’s cheeks, jaw, nose. He tried to roll with the punches, but he could only move so far.

“I was tryin’ to pay you back, boss!” Angel Dust cried. Tears welled in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks. “I was – I did everything you said. I went to the club; I went to the studio – I did everything _right_.”

Valentino took a menacing step forward and grabbed Angel Dust’s cheeks in a clawed hand.

“Everything right?!” he spat, “You stupid, fucking whore! I told you what you owed me, told you what it would take to pay me back – and what do you do? You pass out, leave paying customers wanting. Not everyone wants to fuck a catatonic bitch who isn’t aware of what’s happening to him.”

“Boss… I… I couldn’t take any more. I woke up behind a dumpster - what was I supposed to do?” Angel Dust couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t stop the pleading, desperate note in his voice.

“Do I look like someone who cares?!”

“Boss, I couldn’t-”

Valentino slapped him into silence. The strike hit with enough force to make Angel Dust bite down on his own tongue.

“Shut up. That’s your problem, Angel. You talk too fucking much. You talk back. You don’t _listen_. I tell you put on a show, you cut the party short because you can’t handle what I pay you to do. I tell you to make some new tapes, you produce some sub-par BDSM shit, stuff that I couldn’t even sell at a discount for how pathetic and lifeless it. I tell you to do better, you shoot up the studio.”

“Filming that last tape would have killed me!”

“So? Nothing of value would have been lost. It would have paid off your debt – or are you saying that your life is worth more than what you owed?”

He said it so casually, with so much conviction that Angel Dust couldn’t argue. He fell silent, feeling sick to his stomach, his head reeling. The severity of his situation that had been looming over him ever since he’s escaped from the studio, was now staring him in the face. For all of his fame, for all of his reputation and status in Hell, to Valentino, he really was nothing. Expendable. Disposable.

“… no, Mister Valentino.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Angel Dust didn’t see the punch coming. It landed squarely in his solar plexus, and hit with so much force he thought the entire chair was going to topple backwards. He gasped, fighting for breath that his lungs couldn’t seem to draw.

“Do you know what _really_ made me mad, sugar? That you thought you could avoid this. Rather than coming back to me – your rightful _owner_ \- you had the audacity, the fucking _cojones_ to get another someone else involved in trying to save your pathetic, worthless life.”

“I... I’m sorry -” he choked.

Valentino started laughed, a mirthless laugh that echoed throughout the warehouse. It sent a shiver down Angel Dust’s spine.

“Did you really think the _Radio Demon_ would help you? Oh, he parades around like he owns the fucking place, but he _has_ nothing. Can _do_ nothing. He doesn’t stand a chance against me; he’s only capable of dealing with the worthless dregs of society. He _can’t_ protect you, even if he wanted to, which I highly suspect he doesn’t.”

The door slammed open, loud and dramatic, and Angel Dust’s heart leapt into his mouth. He hoped, prayed it was Alastor. Or Charlie, or Cherri Bomb – anyone who would help. Hope was a terrible thing to hold on to.

It was Vox.

“Looks like you got the party started without me,” he said to Valentino, folding his arms in front of him, appraising the damage. “You’ve done a good job; this procedure always goes more smoothly once they’ve had the fight beaten out of them.”

“What – what is _he_ doing here?” Angel Dust asked, feeling his blood run cold. “What procedure?”

“Vox here is going to help you pay off your _debt,_ Angel-cakes. If you won’t perform for the cameras willingly, then we will get the next best thing from you. Vox here is going to look into your mind. He’s going to extract every desire you have ever had in your pathetic little life and, because it’s _you_ , I imagine it’s going to make one hell of a sex tape.”

Angel Dust laughed nervously. “Ahaha, you kiddin’ me? Is that all?”

Valentino sighed, rolling his eyes. “You really are fucking stupid, aren’t you? He’s going to hook into your brain and pull out your deepest secrets, your darkest memories and fantasies. People will be _fascinated_ to see what debauched filth goes on in the recesses of your mind.”

“I have nothing to hide,” Angel Dust lied, frantically, realisation dawning on him. He was beginning to sweat. “I’m a _porn star_ – do you think I’m embarrassed to have people watch my fantasies? I have literally done _everything_. People have signed photos of my junk, for fuck’s sake.”

“They all say that,” Vox laughed, sauntering closer, long cables snaking out from the back of his head. They swayed behind him as he walked. “But everyone’s a sinner here, everyone has _something_ they desperately want to keep buried. That’s why this shit is practically like printing money – either it sells to the highest bidder, or it is made to disappear… for a price.”

Angel Dust tried to scramble away. He kicked his feet to try and slide the chair backwards, anything to get even an inch further away from Vox. He pulled at the zip ties binding his wrists, threw his weight behind every movement. It wasn’t nearly enough. Vox approached, a televised grin plastering his face.

“Hold still – it’ll hurt a lot less if you do.”

Angel Dust opened his mouth to scream and Vox grabbed his jaw as he did so, squeezing to keep his mouth open. The cable- pronged and so very sharp – was jammed into the soft palate of his mouth. It tore through the flesh, vibrating hard. Angel Dust could taste his own blood tricking down his throat, mixed with the static-laced fluid coming from the cables. He gagged, choking, gasping, and he felt his limbs going heavy.

More cables shifted into his periphery – four of them, each tipped with long, thin needles. Vox was controlling them as though they were snakes. 

“You done yet?” Valentino asked, folding his arms. Vox shook his head.

“His mic is working, but we need audio-visual feedback. The monitor and speakers, if you will.” He turned to Angel Dust, tilting his chin up. “Don’t move so much, I would hate for anything to come loose. You might break something.”

“No… no!” Angel Dust murmured, his tongue fighting against the cable in his mouth.

Two of the cables positioned themselves out of view. Angel Dust could feel them next to his ears. He tried to thrash his head from side to side but Vox held him still. There was an excruciating needle-prick against his eardrums. The world suddenly sounded as though it was plunged underwater.

He stopped struggling immediately. He was terrified to move – every flinch made the most horrible nails-on-a-chalkboard vibration rattle through his skull.

The more cables appeared in front of his eyes. He whimpered.

“Audio done. Now for visual. I’m just going to push your eyeballs aside a little, get to your frontal lobe - they used to do this all the time back in the day, for much more nefarious purposes. And, we aren’t even going to scramble your brain once we’re in there – just going to take a look…”

Angel Dust’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as the needles sunk into place. True to his word, Vox didn’t pierce his eyes, but it was little consolation. Angel Dust could see the long dark shapes of the needles pushing against his eyeballs, and the red-blue bruising around it.

He gripped his hands behind his back, praying to whatever would listen – that he would survive this, that they wouldn’t see, that he could escape somehow. No one was listening.

Nearby a TV turned on; it was massive, filling the entire far wall. Angel Dust could see himself sitting in the middle of the room, head hooked up to Vox’s terrible cables looking like H.R. Giger fever dream. Watching himself like this – hearing himself- was disorienting, an out of body experience.

A second later the TV image shifted, and he was looking through his own eyes once more, his vision projected and augmented. Sound filled the room – a hurried, panicked mantra of _ohplease-ohplease-pleasestop-pleaseSTOP_ and to his horror, Angel Dust realised that it was his own thoughts being played back for everyone to hear.

“St-op” he gurgled, saliva dribbling down his chin as he fought to get the words out. The cable in his mouth amplified the sound, playing it alongside his own racing thoughts.

Vox laughed. It was a horrible sound. “Stop? This is just the check to make sure everything is working. Let’s see what you’ve been up to, shall we?”

Vox stood directly in front of Angel Dust, his face distorting on its screen. It was as though his lit up from within, a bright spot burning in Angel Dust’s vision. He whimpered, trying to endure the stabbing pain that lanced through his brain, a headache like nothing he had ever felt before. His eyes burned, his ears bled and the vibrations in his skull surged waves of agony through him. He felt like he was being pulled apart, and crushed inwards, both at the same time. The light grew brighter, and brighter, until all Angel Dust saw was a white glow.

He screamed.

The light faded as suddenly as it started. The pain receded, leaving him panting, gasping for breath.

Even as he was bound to a chair in a warehouse, Angel Dust could see himself from behind his own eyes. He could see his bedroom, his discarded clothing, his bedsheets. He could see his own body sprawled on his bed, hear his own mewling whimpers, and unmistakable sounds of skin against skin as he worked himself through intense pleasure.

A memory, a recent one, playing out on the big screen for all to see.

It was as if he was back there, spread-eagled amongst his pillows with a hand around his dick, another sliding a dildo into his ass. He whimpered – and the memory of himself did the same.

“Look at you, baby. Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you? _This_ is the shit people pay good money to see. Vox? Hook this up to the main broadcasting frequency. I think the entire pentagram would love to see _this_ little show. Get them interested in the final product.”

“…nn…nno…!” He watched his hand started to move faster, saw his dick flush red, slick with pre-come, the muscles of his stomach tense.

“Sure thing… and… _there_. It’s on every single channel. Broadcasting live.”

“You hear that Angel? Everyone is getting an eyeful of your sweet little cock right now.”

The scene continued. Angel Dust watched himself trace another hand over his chest, tweak his nipples, stroke down his stomach to create as much sensation as he could. His toes were curled, his legs tangled in the blankets.

Angel Dust began to struggle in his chair, trying to stop the connection. He knew what was coming next, what was about to happen. The cables were fixed tight, plugged into his eyes, ears, mouth. He couldn’t detach them, couldn’t stop his own memories from replaying.

On screen, he was so close to coming; his voice, echoing through the room, was nothing but short breathy gasps. His hand was faltering, struggling to keep a steady pace.

The pleasure peaked. Angel Dust whispered Alastor’s name as come splattered over his stomach and chest.

There was a stunned silence. Valentino and Vox glanced at each other.

“Did he just…?”

Valentino approached Angel Dust slowly, mouth split into a grin, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. “Whose name did you say?”

The Angel Dust on screen moaned Alastor’s name again as if he could hear them. Valentino laughed hard.

“The Radio Demon?! You want his dick that bad? This is too fucking _funny_.” He laughed again, and Vox joined in. Valentino wiped a fake tear from his eyes. “Newsflash sweetheart, he ain’t gonna be interested in you! He doesn’t waste his time with whores.”

Angel Dust wished it could end there. He could work around this. A porn star jerking it to an overlord wasn’t exactly news. But he knew that wasn’t the extent of his memories. Or his secrets.

The cables began to vibrate again and his eyes rolled to the back of his head with the intensity of it. He tried to stop it, tried not to give in to the pulling, crushing sensation in his skull as his most recent memories came to the forefront of his mind.

He watched as his mind relived, blow by blow, being fucked in the club while out of his goddamned mind. He could almost feel it all over again, being passed around from demon to demon, their cocks shoved into his mouth, his ass, a never-ending stream of faceless men.

He saw himself being beaten up inside the studio under the paper-thin guise of rough play – he flinched as every single hit connected, watched as bruises blossomed all over his half-naked body, watched himself suffer hour after hour of physical abuse.

But the problem with trying not to think about things, is that you had to think about what it was that you were trying to hide. Vox was right; it was only a matter of time.

The scene changed, and Angel Dust watched in horror as he saw the rose garden, Alastor placing a flower into his buttonhole and gently smiling as they talked about life in the 1930s. His thoughts echoed over the scene, gently murmuring sounds of _contentment_.

“What’s this…?” Valentino asked the air, bringing a hand to his mouth. He cast a look at Angel Dust.

“Stop… please… no…”

Angel Dust watched as he sat in a café, drinking coffee and eating _pignoli_. Alastor sat opposite, his ankle crossed over his knee, eyes half closed as he brought the cup to his lips. _“We have an eternity to spend together, after all.”_

The jazz club. The soft music filled the warehouse, as clear as it had that night. Angel Dust watched as Alastor placed his hand on the small of his back and led him into a dance. Slow, and sensual; there was so mistaking the sentiment behind what they were doing. Alastor dipped him at the swell of the music’s crescendo, and Angel Dust saw himself gaze longingly into those burning red eyes.

_“For all your little display earlier was quite the sight to behold, I much prefer this. You look delightful.”_

_“Alastor, Please…”_

Alastor’s face had been so close to his own. He looked as though he was about to kiss him. Angel Dust had wanted nothing more in that moment. And now everyone knew. 

“Stop… stop this…. No more…” The violation was agony. Angel Dust began to squirm in his seat, crying freely, whimpering as he fought the restraints. He balled his hands into tight fists, fingernails cutting into his palms.

He wanted to close his eyes, to stop watching his own love being broadcast on screen, to stop seeing Valentino’s cruel smile. He cut his eyelids against the sharp edge of the needle when he tried to do so.

He was forced to watch.

The memories shifted to images of Angel Dust jerking off in his room, showed his _desperation_ as he tried to correlate sexual desire with love, but it was too late. The entire Pentagram had seen what he’d been trying to hide.

“The Radio Demon is going to be pissed,” Vox said as he watched Angel Dust’s splayed body on screen, fucking his fist with practiced efficiency, moaning like a bitch in heat as he thrust up into his hand.

“Yes. Hell yes. He’s going to be _furious_ , and I am going to die laughing about it.” Valentino grinned like a shark, predatory and so very dangerous. Angel Dust couldn’t look at him. It all hurt too much. “It’s pathetic really. Here I was thinking that Angel here was being a horny little shit as usual, but it seems like we have stumbled on something so much more damning. We’re going to eat him alive.”

“Oh, I _highly_ doubt that! Though, I would be _delighted_ to see you try.”

Angel Dust couldn’t help but yelp at the familiar voice echoing through the warehouse; he felt the blood drain from his face and for a very real moment he thought he was going to faint. If Alastor was here, it must be because he watched the broadcasts. He must have seen _everything_. Nausea welled up in his throat. The cable in his mouth was doing nothing for his gag-reflex; his stomach churned and he retched.

Vox and Valentino turned to face Alastor as he sauntered casually into the middle of the room. He was silhouetted against the TV screen; it was still showing Angel Dust pleasuring himself, and Alastor was decidedly not looking at it. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here,” Valentino said, his face pulled into a snarl. 

“Ahaha, why, of course I do – I wouldn’t be the man I am today without a healthy dose of gumption and moxie. After all, no one gets _anywhere_ being all hat and no cattle.” Alastor rested on his cane, smiling. Always smiling. Though, Angel Dust had seen enough over the past few days to sense the anger lurking beneath the affable façade.

“You arrogant…! Don’t you know where you are?” Valentino snapped, gesturing to the room with a sweep of his arm. “This is _my_ turf. I don’t know how you got in here, but you aren’t as fuck walking out of here alive.”

Valentino snapped his fingers and his bodyguards emerged from the shadows, all of them armed, every weapon pointed at Alastor. Vox pulled out a pistol from his jacket pocket. He calmly aimed it at Alastor’s head.

Alastor waved his hand, dismissively. 

“Now, now, no need for such theatrics. I am merely here to claim what is mine, and then I’ll be on my way. No harm, no hard feelings. I wouldn’t want to bother you two, ahem, _gentlemen_ , for any longer than I need to.”

“Or what? What is stopping us from killing you right here? You walked in here unarmed. You have no allies, no power.”

Alastor turned his head slightly, acknowledging that he was surrounded, drastically outnumbered. His smile didn’t slip for a second.

“Well, technically nothing,” he said with a casual shrug, “you _could_ order your men to fire, and I will be riddled with bullet holes in no time at all! But I would advise against such a rash course of action. You see, if you hadn’t been so _preoccupied_ with what you were broadcasting on your fancy picture show there, you would have seen exactly what my bargaining chip is.”

Valentino and Vox shot each other a glance. Vox silently waved away the images of Angel Dust, and instead tuned into a local news broadcast. A plume of smoke was rising up into the Pentagram. Valentino took a step forward, squinting.

“That’s-!”

“Yes indeedy! That was your methamphetamine production site! Hundreds of workers’ lives tragically lost when an anhydrous ammonia tank exploded.”

“You disrupted my production line!”

“And wait, there’s more! Vox, if you would be a dear and make this thing focus just over there and… there we go!”

An explosion rang out across the city. The vibration was large enough that Angel Dust could feel it through his feet. On TV, the news helicopter reporting the initial blast veered to one side, rushing over to the new crater. “Ahaha, _right_ on schedule. That was your heroin production facility, by the way.”

“What are you doing?” Valentino demanded, rounding on Alastor and making a grab for his lapels. Alastor neatly removed his hands and straightened his jacket.

“Showing you why it would be a terrible idea to kill the one person with the power to stop any more little _accidents_ from occurring!”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“Not at all – only insanely prepared. This is how it’s going to go, gentleman. The longer you keep _me_ here, the more of _Valentino’s_ factories, production lines, supply chains and other manufacture is going to suddenly, unpredictably and inevitably blow up. It’s all set in motion.”

He began to pace, the leather of his shoes clipping against the concrete like a metronome. “I’m sure one or two little explosions won’t slow you down – you’re a powerful fellow, chaps like you have aces upon aces in your back pockets – but eventually, it _will_ start to hurt. Eventually, _someone_ will notice these new sudden gaps in the market. And then, not only will you have to rebuild, but you’ll also have to defend yourself. And not from me! We are in Hell, gentlemen, every single demon out there is champing at the bit to get even a _slice_ of what you have. And I’m making it possible.”

Valentino snarled; his teeth clenched together to hard they looked like they would crack under the pressure. His hand was balled into a fist, but he had nowhere to strike. Alastor was still smiling at him, waiting patiently.

“All this… for one whore?” Valentino eventually managed to growl out. “Does he really mean that much to you?” 

Alastor seemed to properly look at Angel Dust for the first time; for a brief moment their eyes met. Angel Dust couldn’t read his expression.

“Ahahaha! Oh, no, you see it is the principle of the thing. He belongs to me. He is _mine_. And I don’t share.”

Valentino strode in front of Angel Dust and grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing his head upright. “He belonged to me first. He betrayed me. I demand my satisfaction!”

“Your chance has passed. I understand that you previously had him at your mercy; it isn’t _my_ fault you’re incompetent. On that note, Vox old chap, I suggest you unhook him from that contraption of yours. I have seen quite enough brazen displays for one day, thank you.”

Valentino threw Angel Dust back into his seat. The needles in Angel Dust’s eyes and ears withdrew, the cable from his mouth was pulled clear. It wasn’t a gentle movement; it was practically ripped out of his mouth. He tasted blood, but there didn’t seem to be any permeant damage.

“Everyone will know about this,” Vox said as the cables began to fade away, tucked back into whatever realm they existed in when he wasn’t using them. “I will broadcast what went down here to everyone, with all the power of the media behind me. I will destroy you.”

The giant TV screen flickered and displayed the warehouse CCTV footage. There was a good shot of Alastor claiming ownership for destroying Valentino’s production lines. His transgression was clear. He’d all but declared war on the other overlords.

Alastor grinned and shrugged. “Hah, yes, I expect you will, embellishing as you go. But that is your right. I can be found at the Hazbin Hotel if anyone needs to find me.”

He walked directly up to Angel Dust. He stood looming in front of him and smiling. Angel Dust struggled to find his voice.

“Alastor… I…”

“Don’t speak. Shall we?” The zip ties binding Angel Dust’s wrists fell away; he immediately rubbed the sore welts that had formed there. Alastor didn’t offer him a hand, didn’t help him up; he merely turned to leave, expecting him to follow, humming as he went.

Angel Dust fought to his feet and hurried after him, feeling dizzy, nauseous, and riddled with uncharacteristic anxiety. He felt awful, He tried to curl in on himself, hugging his arms close, head bowed.

“You won’t get away with this, Alastor!” Valentino called after them as they headed out of the warehouse.

Alastor turned, his infernal grin firmly in place. “I already have.”

* * *

Angel Dust expected punishment the moment they stepped out into the grimy evening air. He knew what Alastor was capable of; he’d seen it with his own eyes. As the door to the warehouse slammed closed behind them, leaving them alone in some back alley somewhere, he had visions of finding Alastor surrounded by his shadows, ready to tear him apart.

Alastor noticed, because he always did when people were fucking terrified in his presence.

“Sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry, Alastor. I didn’t mean to -to-” Angel Dust couldn’t get the words out, and he felt like he was going to hyperventilate. His heart – which hadn’t stopped racing throughout the entire ordeal – had picked up again, so much so that the surge of adrenaline was threatening to do some interesting things if he didn’t get out of this fight-or-flight mode pretty soon.

He flinched when Alastor took a step towards him.

“Calm down. I can’t understand a word you’re trying to say.”

“Don’t kill me – please! I can make it up to ya, I just need-”

“Excuse me?”

Angel Dust was convinced Alastor’s shadows looked longer than they had any right to be, were darker, more malevolent. He shuddered. “Please don’t!”

Angel Dust fell to his knees, his legs giving out from under him, head swimming. He clutched his stomach, his chest, feeling like he was going to be sick. After a moment of retching and heavy breathing Alastor lifted his chin up with a gloved hand.

“My dear, I haven’t gone to all this trouble to kill you now. Get up. Our ride is here.”

Angel Dust was surprised to find Charlie’s limousine waiting for them at the end of the street. Alastor opened the rear door, gesturing with his cane – it was empty inside. “Hurry up, we haven’t got all night.”

Angel Dust slid into the back seat, still trying to make himself as small as possible. He curled up against the window, looking back at the non-descript building they’d emerged from. He wasn’t sure if he was expecting anyone to come out after them, or if he just wanted to see for some sort of closure. Either way, it meant he could avoid eye contact with Alastor.

“I asked for a favour: Miss Charlie was more than happy to assist.” Alastor explained as he followed Angel Dust into the car. He sat at the opposite end of the limo. He seemed so far away.

Angel Dust felt cold, and alone.

“Did she see…” Angel Dust gestured to the warehouse. Alastor tilted his head to one side.

“Oh, yes. She was the one who brought what was happening to my attention. And quite rightly so!”

Angel Dust buried his head in his hands. Regret and shame gripped his heart, squeezing it hard until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He felt horribly cold, like he’d jumped into an icy lake.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, unable to look up.

“Again? What for this time?”

Two things sprung to mind; he went with the least controversial. “Getting you involved with my shit. I’ve started a war between you and Valentino. And Vox too.”

Alastor chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “It is to be expected. You’re greedy, excessive. It’s in your nature. It’s why you’re in Hell, and why you are destined to remain here. But, if you made things easy for me, I wouldn’t find you nearly as entertaining,”

Angel Dust didn’t reply, and looked out of the window as the car drove them back to the hotel.

Silence stretched between them, becoming more awkward with each passing second. Angel Dust tried breathing deeply to steady his nerves. It didn’t help. When he looked over to Alastor he found him watching him intently. He coughed, trying to mask his discomfort.

“What?”

“Oh nothing, I was merely contemplating. This afternoon has been quite eye opening.”

“Right. Yeah. Look, Alastor, about the broadcast…”

“Oh, you don’t need to explain. I saw quite enough to draw my own conclusions.”

Angel Dust rubbed the back of his neck. This wasn’t how he thought he would be asking Alastor if he returned his affections, but here they were.

“…so, uh, what do you think?”

“What do I think about what?” Alastor asked, looking so calm and relaxed that it could only be a front.

“About what you saw,” he persisted, refusing to let Alastor evade the question like he had back at the café. He had a horrible feeling forming in the back of his mind that if he didn’t say something now, the moment would be lost.

“I think, that if you are persisting down this line of questioning, you might find yourself faced with the consequences of your greed.”

Alastor looked out of the window. The limousine had pulled up to the front gates of the Hotel. He opened the door and gestured for Angel Dust to leave. “We’re here. I suggest you spend the rest of the day recuperating. You’ve got some nasty bruises that you should probably tend to.” 

Angel Dust hesitated. “Do you need me to-”

“No. I don’t think I need any more from you today. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well!”

Alastor left Angel Dust standing alone on the kerb.

Angel Dust watched as he drove away, and felt a wave of despair grip him. That didn’t go how he thought it would. He didn’t get rejected per se, but there still felt like something heavy was settling over his heart.

What if Alastor didn’t want to spend time together anymore? He’d said that he wanted him around for entertainment, and instead he’d caused nothing but trouble.

Fuck, it all hurt.

He headed into the hotel, head hanging. For the first time, coming back here didn’t feel like the safe retreat it once had. He felt like an outsider, and very alone. He was glad the lobby was empty – he really couldn’t face Charlie or Vaggie right now. 

“Hey kid,” Husk called to him from the bar. Angel Dust looked over to him, hoping to hell that he couldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

Husk placed a shot of vodka on the bar. “Look like you need it. Again.”

Angel Dust let out a shaky laugh. He pulled up a stool and eyed the shot glass.

“I thought you said no more freebies?”

“Well, I don’t think you should be looking a gift horse in the mouth. Take it or leave it.”

“Yeah, sorry. Thanks.” Angel Dust downed the shot in one go and shuddered at the burn. Husk immediately refilled it, no questions asked.

“You gonna tell me your troubles? 'Cause, no offense, I really don’t wanna hear them.”

“No. Don’t worry, there’s nothing to tell. Everyone saw it anyways.”

Husk nodded. He leant over the bar conspiratorially. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

Angel Dust nursed the drink in his hand.

“You think so?” He couldn’t stop himself from sounding hopeful.

“No, I’m just trying to make you feel better,” Husk said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Finish your drink, I’ll pour you another.”

Angel Dust did what he was told. Husk nodded at him.

“Kid; let me give ya a bit of insight into our employer. The Radio Demon is _good_ with people. Knows what makes ‘em tick, knows their weakness, vices. He probably already knew everything about you before it was on TV, you get me?”

Angel Dust giggled with self-depreciating humour. “Fuck, I really hope not.”

“If you’re thinking _that_ , then yeah, he definitely did.”

Angel Dust ran a finger over the rim of his glass, thinking. Alastor _had_ told him that he’d noticed him, that he’d picked up on Angel Dust flirting. That he’d seen the looks he’d given him, had encouraged him, even, to express himself with gestures that could be considered romantic. He’d practically walked in on him jerking off, and not run a mile. Had been enticed by what he’d seen.

Angel Dust sighed. “So, what should I do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“You’ll laugh if I tell ya.”

“Probably,” Husk agreed. He grabbed a glass and started polishing it. He shot Angel Dust a glance, as if he was weighing him up. “Well, if you want my advice, it looks like you've got two options. You can either do whatever it is you want to do – spare me the details, please- and deal with the outcome, or you can sit here and mope. I know which one I’d rather you did; you’re costing me a fortune like this.”

“Man up, huh?”

“You got it in one.”

Husk left him on his own after that. Maybe it was the booze, but Angel Dust did feel a little better. Perhaps things _weren’t_ as bad as he thought. He knew what he felt for Alastor, and, while Valentino had done his best to ruin it, it didn’t change anything. He still loved him.

And Alastor – fuck, who’s to say that he didn’t feel _something_ in return? Like, it might not be the all-encompassing love that Angel Dust felt, but Alastor must be getting _something_ out of their arrangement. A guy didn’t crack open the champagne and initiate a dance like that and not feel _something_ for their partner.

That had to count for something, right?

It got late without Angel Dust noticing. Thoroughly drunk he navigated himself through the hotel’s corridors, staggering slightly with the inebriation. He used his hands to trace his way back to his room.

As there had been for the past few days, music was coming from… somewhere. It wasn’t the same song – in fact it sounded like the radio was constantly being re-tuned, the listener evidently not satisfied with any of the songs – but it had that same staticky, tinny, quality of an old radio.

He paused for a moment and strained his ears, listening.

> _You're telling everyone I know_
> 
> _I'm on your mind, each place you go_
> 
> _They can't believe you're in love with me-_

_***Static***_

> _Everybody loves my baby,_
> 
> _But my baby don't love nobody but me._
> 
> _Nobody but me-_

_****Static***_

> _Sometimes I wonder why I spend_
> 
> _The lonely nights_
> 
> _Dreaming of a song._
> 
> _The melody haunts my reverie_
> 
> _And I am once again with you._

Angel Dust grinned as he entered into his room. He sat on the bed, and then fell backwards, letting himself sprawl on the pillows. He could still hear the music.

So many love songs.

No, maybe things weren’t hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs at the end of the chapter are:  
> 1\. I Can't Believe That You're in Love with Me; composed by Jimmy McHugh in 1926  
> 2\. Everybody Loves My Baby; composed by Spencer Williams in 1924  
> 3\. Stardust; composed by Hoagy Carmichael in 1927


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry, this "quick epilogue" turned into >8k of smut. Took a bit longer to write than I expected. I know Alastor is canonically asexual, but I'm handwaving it for the fic, okay? :)

Angel Dust had a plan. It wasn’t complicated. He was just going to do what he usually did when faced with a decision any more complicated than deciding what to wear: go after what he wanted with reckless abandon and deal with the consequences later.

Still, he felt uncharacteristically antsy. He hated the way his stomach was turning in knots, how it felt like he couldn’t sit still, couldn’t relax. He paced the drawing room, checking himself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, running a hand through his hair to tousle it. He’d taken his time getting ready, trying his hardest to look like someone Alastor would… well, want. Not that he thought there was anything wrong with how he looked normally, but Alastor had _preferences_ , and _expectations_ , and Angel Dust wasn’t entirely convinced that he knew how best to appeal to them.

He was so fucking out of his depth. Emotions were messy, made everything so fucking _complicated_ \- it was no wonder he so often wanted to lose himself in the mindlessness of a drug-induced haze. Anything to avoid feeling like _this_.

Still, Husk was right. He needed to man the fuck up.

He took a deep breath and grinned at his reflection. He’d got this.

It wasn’t as thought his situation was completely hopeless: Alastor had sought out his company, seemed to genuinely want to keep him close. He’d treated him not just kindly, but with a tender sentimentality that Angel Dust hadn’t seen him express with anyone else. And most of all, Alastor had saved him from Valentino, in more ways than one.

And… if it _didn’t_ work out, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It couldn’t be worse than having the entirety of the Pentagram be privy to his deepest desires, after all. His reputation was already in tatters, his soul didn’t belong to him anymore, and he only had food and shelter due to the good nature of a demon intent on trying to reform losers like him; he literally had _nothing_ left to lose.

A clock chimed from some forgotten corner of the hotel, the sound ringing through the drawing room. It wouldn’t be long now. He could do this. It was just another performance.

Angel Dust pulled the cork from the bottle of red wine he’d managed to pilfer– _borrow_ \- from Husk, and put it aside to let it breathe. As he twiddled the dials on the old radio he vaguely wondered if the Hotel had always had so many of them, or if their presence was because of Alastor in some way. Eventually he found the channel he was looking for; the music sounded tinny and crackled with interference, but he kinda liked it like that. It seemed fitting.

> _Though I'm certain that this heart of mine_
> 
> _Hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance_
> 
> _You go to my head_
> 
> _You go to my head_

The stage was set, all it needed was the actors.

He didn’t have to wait long. Alastor had a knack for showing up at the right time, though, right for whom was often called into question, and he didn’t disappoint now. The doors to the drawing room dramatically swung open, slamming against the walls.

Angel Dust couldn’t be sure, but Alastor looked unexpectedly agitated, flustered – a blush was definitely forming high on his cheeks, and he was moving with an intense purpose. He hadn’t noticed Angel Dust; his gaze was focused on the radio, eyes narrowed as he strode towards it.

“Fucking thing is _taunting_ me…”

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear.”

Alastor’s head snapped around, and his eyes fell on Angel Dust. Angel Dust grinned at him, flashing his jagged teeth. He lounged against the far wall in his most alluring pose, one leg cocked, a long cigarette dangling from his fingers.

Alastor faltered for a second before breaking into a wide – if somewhat guarded – smile.

“Ah! Angel Dust. I didn’t realise you were in here. I do hope I haven’t interrupted your leisure activities.” Alastor neatly rapped the top of the radio with his cane: “I thought this _thing_ was playing up again. It’s been giving me one hell of a time recently, playing by itself quite unexpectedly.”

Angel Dust took a final drag on from his cigarette before stubbing it out in a nearby ashtray. “You’re not interrupting. I’ve been hearin’ this song a lot recently and… I just wanted to hear it properly for once.”

Alastor looked surprised, though he masked it quickly. “ _Have_ you? Fascinating, fascinating.”

He glanced around the room taking in the details; the bottle of wine with two glasses. The music. Angel Dust trying – and failing - to look casual. He leaned on his cane, one hand on his hip. “I must say, all this is rather piquing my curiosity – what _have_ I walked in on this time, hmm?”

Angel Dust laughed nervously, trying not to read too much into Alastor’s expression. “It’s nothing bad, I promise.” He took a deep breath. Standing up straight he held out his hand. “I was kinda hoping… uh, I mean… would you like to dance?”

Alastor stared at him, tilting his head to one side. His sharp smile was still in place, but there was something about it that made it look more severe than usual.

Angel Dust waited, holding his breath. The air in the room seemed heavy, something building that he couldn’t name, with Alastor at its centre. 

Alastor chuckled low in his throat and the tension shattered. His smile softened, and he looked more like himself.

“But of course; it would be my _pleasure_. I am infinitely pleased that you enjoyed our last outing so much that you would want to recreate it here.” Alastor took Angel Dust’s hand and pulled him into the middle of the room, guiding him into position. Alastor always led the dance.

“The _last_ outing was you saving my sorry ass from Valentino. Again.” Angel Dust said with a smirk, resting one of his hands on Alastor’s shoulder.

Alastor shrugged. “That was purely business. It didn’t count.”

Angel Dust let himself relax into the dance. His body all but melted into Alastor’s hold, languid and sensual as they moved with the music. It was a slow song, one that required them to dance exceptionally close. Angel Dust could feel the warmth of Alastor’s body everywhere they touched. He was so _hot_. He tried to push aside the usual thoughts that came with that awareness, ones which made his body respond with eager anticipation. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and to his delight found Alastor’s was beating just as fast.

Alastor leaned forward, brushing his lips over the shell of Angel Dust’s ear as he spoke. His voice was low, barely above a whisper. “A bottle of wine on the table – and an excellent vintage, I note – slow jazz on the wireless, and a deliciously _tense_ partner; my dear, it’s almost like you’re flirting.”

Angel Dust bit back on a giggle; it felt good, easing some of the residual tension he was holding. “I’m glad you noticed.”

“Ahaha, what can I say? Subtlety isn’t exactly your watchword.”

“Are you kiddin’ me? This is practically _finesse_ compared to my usual method of lettin’ a guy know I’m interested. I haven’t propositioned you yet, or nothing’.”

That got a genuine laugh. Alastor pulled him even closer, pressing their bodies together, hip to chest. The hand holding the small of Angel Dust’s back slid a little lower, practically cupping his ass. Angel Dust couldn’t help the little sigh of pleasure. 

“And is that your intention?” Alastor purred, “despite everything you know about me and my predilections?”

“Well, I dunno if you’re into guys,” Angel Dust said, trying not to sound as distracted as he felt, “but you seem to like me.”

Alastor laughed again, a low chuckle. “Sweetheart, of course I do; you would know it if I didn’t. But I’m not talking about something so simple as sexuality. You _belong_ to me.”

Angel Dust shivered at the words. The desire to kiss him was almost unbearably strong. It took every inch of his willpower not to give into that temptation. His body was screaming at him, burning with desire and _want_. He tried to ignore it, listen to his head for once. This wasn’t the time to give in to his libido. He had to do this _right_.

Angel Dust rested his forehead against Alastor’s shoulder, and felt a shiver run up his spine as Alastor held the back of his head to keep him there. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel the sway of their movements, the long fingers laced in his hair. He felt surrounded by Alastor’s presence, his scent, his warmth.

“I think it’s more than that,” he said, slightly muffled. “I think you’re _interested_ too. And I would like it if we could do something about it.”

“Hah, oh my dear, my darling. Sweetheart.” Alastor tugged at his hair, pulling him back to look him in the eye. “What have I told you time and time again about being greedy, hmm? It never leads to anything good.”

“ _This_ is good,” Angel Dust said, with conviction. “Unbelievably good. And I… really would like more. If you’ll give it to me. If you want it too.”

Alastor made a small noise in his throat. The hand in Angel Dust’s hair stroked across his cheek, cupped his jaw. Alastor tiled his chin and brought their lips close together. Close, but not touching. When Alastor spoke, his voice was low in what could only be described as warning. “You are treading on _perilous_ ground, my dear – I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what you are asking for.”

Angel Dust tried not to give into the temptation to press forward and brush his lips over Alastor’s.

“I do,” he whispered, “I want you.”

Alastor was silent, looking at him with intense emotion. Angel Dust held his gaze, losing himself in his eyes. They were blazing, burning, seeing him so completely. He couldn’t look away; he felt naked, exposed. But he also saw something else in Alastor’s red eyes, something he hadn’t ever seen before: Alastor was _uncertain_.

“Are you… worried about something?” he asked lightly. Alastor sighed and stroked Angel Dust’s cheek.

“Yes, but not for _me_.”

Angel Dust smiled. “I can handle it.”

“I wonder if you can …?” Alastor mused to himself.

A heartbeat passed, and he seemed to come to his conclusion. He began to chuckle, a low reverberation that Angel Dust could feel where their chests were pressed together. The music began to swell, and Alastor broke free of their close embrace to twirl him around. The sudden shift in Alastor’s mood made Angel Dust’s head spin.

“Then let us enter into this ill-advised courtship!” Alastor’s face split into a jagged grin and he laughed, loud and exuberant. “Haha, I am _intrigued_ to see where it will lead – to our mutual ruin, or to some new heady delights? Maybe both! Time will tell!”

Before Angel Dust could answer Alastor crushed their lips together in a sudden, punishing kiss. It was brief, over almost as soon as it started, but it still left Angel Dust dazed.

“So… we’re doin’ this? For real?”

“My dear, if people didn’t inevitably give into their greedy _sinful_ natures, I wouldn’t be half as powerful.”

He kissed Angel Dust again before he could respond. “Let us explore the full extent of our desires, shall we?”

* * *

Angel Dust found himself... more than a little disappointed that Alastor didn’t just push him to the floor and take him right there in the drawing room. He was so fucking ready for it – the combination of Alastor’s words, the raw sexual energy thrumming between them, and his own body’s impatience had him feeling half-wild with need.

Maybe that was precisely why Alastor had instead playfully smacked him on the ass and told him to meet him in his room in half an hour. Angel Dust had watched with open-mouthed dismay as Alastor sauntered out of the room without a backwards glance, twirling his cane and humming some jaunty tune. It would have been pretty funny if he hadn’t been hoping to be railed into the carpet.

Still, the break had allowed him to go back to his room, have a perfunctory shower, pack a few things. He was probably overdoing it with all the sex stuff he was packing, but he wanted to be ready for anything – and everything- Alastor wanted to do. Plus, the thought of Alastor having his own lube seemed unthinkable, somehow. In the end it took him longer than half an hour to get ready. He’d decided to change back into his usual clothes for purely pragmatic reasons – there were a lot fewer layers involved and he wanted to be out of them as soon as possible.

It turned out Alastor’s bedroom wasn’t that far away. Even without knowing exactly which one it was he could take a wild guess; all he had to do was follow the music.

He pushed open the door; it was unlocked.

As with many hotels, it was functionally identical to his own, with a few modifications for comfort of the owner. For Angel Dust this meant having a lot of storage for all of his accoutrements – makeup, outfits, sex toys, and a dedicated space for Fat Nuggets. For Alastor, it was a large canopy bed, a well-stocked drinks cabinet, and a pair of leather wingbacks placed in front of a bookcase. It felt decadent, in an old-fashioned way.

“Hey, handsome,” Angel Dust said, closing the door behind him with an audible click, “miss me?”

Alastor was lounging in one of his chairs – he’d removed his jacket, and looked almost casual in his shirt and suspenders. He glanced up as Angel Dust walked in, and smiled.

“Angel Dust! Do come in, come in. Don’t be shy – here, have a drink with me.” Alastor poured him a glass of wine and gestured for him to sit in the other chair with an inviting smile. He looked alluring, and irresistibly powerful.

The desire Angel Dust felt in the drawing room returned in a rush, and he was eminently thankful to have something to occupy his hands. “Thanks.”

Alastor was watching him intently as the music continued to play, eyes hooded, swirling the wine around in his glass. Angel Dust wasn’t sure what he expected – maybe for Alastor to be nervous somehow – but he wasn’t. There was an undercurrent of _something_ that was building in the room, but it wasn’t something so uncertain as _nerves_.

Angel Dust took a swig of his wine, knowing full well that it was no way to treat a fine vintage. “So, how d’you want tonight to go?”

“What do you mean?” Alastor glanced over the rim of the glass, raising an eyebrow with a grin. “I thought I made my intentions perfectly clear.”

“Well, yeah, but people _like_ different things. Wanna make sure you’re havin’ fun.”

Alastor laughed and sipped his wine. “I’m an _overlord_ , with more power than you could possibly comprehend, and you’re worried that this little tête-à-tête wouldn’t be enjoyable for me?”

Angel Dust shrugged. “Well, yeah. I’m a demon, not a cunt.”

Alastor laughed again and placed his glass carefully on a small table before rising to his feet. He stood in front of Angel Dust.

“I would _like_ to show you exactly what being in a relationship with me will entail. It will include a sexual aspect, but also other forms of intimacy.” Alastor stroked a gloved hand down the side of his face, cupping his jaw, encouraging him to look up. “There are things – sentiments, if you will - that I would like to share with you.”

“You mean, like kissing and stuff?”

Alastor traced a thumb over Angel Dust’s lips. He leaned forward, his voice full of static and reverberation. “Amongst other things.”

Angel Dust smiled, feeling himself blush. He pressed a kiss to Alastor’s thumb. Alastor inhaled sharply at the soft contact so he did it again. When Alastor didn’t move or pull his hand away, he parted his lips and touched his tongue to the soft leather.

Alastor made a pleased hum in his throat, and pressed his thumb into Angel Dust’s mouth. The taste was bitter and harsh, and Angel Dust couldn’t stop the soft groan he inadvertently made. He sucked, swirling his tongue around the leather, not breaking eye contact and loving the look on Alastor’s face.

Angel Dust made sure to keep eye contact as he bit down on the tip of Alastor’s glove. Slowly, he pulled his head back, peeling the leather away from Alastor’s skin. Alastor had long fingers, elegant; he couldn’t wait to have them all over him.

He took his hand and gently kissed every part he could reach: the back of his palm, fingertips, knuckles. He pressed a kiss to the pulse point at Alastor’s now-bare wrist and relished how he could feel it fluttering against his lips.

“Y’know, this was the first bit of skin I ever saw on ya,” Angel Dust murmured into his skin. He traced his fingers upwards, past the greyish skin of Alastor’s wrist, his forearm, and ended at the paper-thin skin of his elbow. “I thought it was gorgeous.”

Alastor grinned at him, “and what do you think now, hmm?”

“That I wanna see more of you.”

Alastor placed his other gloved hand to Angel Dust’s lips, inviting him to bite down on this one too. “You’re going to have to work for it, sweetheart.”

Angel Dust did as he was told, peeled back the other glove and let it drop to the floor. When he made eye contact again, he saw Alastor watching him with _something_ that could only be described as hungry.

Angel Dust stood up, and leaned in for a kiss. He’d been wanting to do that all evening. Alastor pulled him close, and Angel Dust felt a shiver run through him as he felt Alastor’s tongue touch his own.

One benefit of having two pairs of hands was that Angel Dust could multitask. Two hands gently grasped Alastor’s face, encouraging him to tilt his head at just the right angle to deepen the kiss; the other two began to slide the suspenders over Alastor’s shoulders.

Alastor breathlessly broke away and placed a hand over Angel Dust’s to stop him. “Not yet.”

“Too fast?”

“It simply wouldn’t be equitable for me to be in any further state of undress and you not.”

“Then let me make it a bit fairer,” Angel Dust grinning at him, pushing Alastor to sit back in his chair; he looked a little less put together than he had a moment ago, his hair slightly mussed from where Angel Dust had run his hands through it.

If there was one thing Angel Dust knew how to do, it was stripping. He stood just out of touching range, swaying with the music, and enjoying how Alastor was watching him with rapt attention.

He started with his gloves – shocking pink and running to his elbow – slowly peeling them back to show his long arms, inch by tantalising inch. He let them drop to the floor, one at a time. He unbuttoned his jacket next, letting the buttons pop as he tugged on them, exposing his slender midriff and the petal-soft fur of his chest. With a flourish he turned away, letting his jacket fall off his shoulders, exposing the prominent lines of his shoulder blades.

“You sure you don’t wanna touch?” he offered, glancing over his shoulder. He loved how Alastor was looking at him, like he wanted to devour him. He was gripping the armrest of his chair and leaning forward, looking for all the world like he was about to _ravish_ him.

Angel Dust knew he was playing with fire when he trailed a hand down the centre of his chest, fingers caressing his stomach, down to the waistband of his tiny black mini-skirt. “I might need some help…”

Alastor licked his lips. “Then I would be happy to oblige – go lie on the bed.”

Angel Dust complied immediately; he paused mid-disrobe, jacket still falling open and hanging from his elbows, his skirt dangerously hiked up over his slender hips.

“You’ve got no idea how much I have dreamed of getting’ you here.” Angel Dust said as he sprawled on top of the comforter, wiggling suggestively to get comfortable.

“Thanks to our, ahem, mutual _friend,_ I do. But I’m glad I know for sure. I would hate to think I was the only one to feel this… _desire_ as strongly as I do.”

Alastor hooked his thumbs under the waistband of Angel Dust’s skirt and slid it down. Angel Dust hadn’t bothered with underwear. His cock, hard and insistent, sprang free as soon as the skirt cleared his hips.

“Oh.”

“You _definitely_ aren’t the only one who feels that way.”

“It’s… You are such a sight to behold,” Alastor said, blushing. Angel Dust smiled at the compliment, feeling warmth bloom in his chest. He knew he looked good, but to hear it from Alastor made him feel unreasonably pleased.

“Can I see you now?” 

Alastor shook his head, though he was smiling softly. “In good time.”

“What, are ya shy?” Angel Dust gently teased. Alastor laughed.

“Ahaha, not at all – I am very comfortable in my skin. But _you_ are someone who enjoys being looked at, being admired. Remove the rest of your clothes, and I will show you the extent of my appreciation.”

Angel Dust couldn’t say no to an offer like that. He sat up and peeled off his dishevelled clothing, kicking off his boots in record speed. Completely naked he laid back on the bed, his entire view framed by the canopy, and in the centre of it all, Alastor.

“I’m going to touch every inch of you,” Alastor said, leaning over him. “Will you be good for me and keep your hands to yourself? And not push or rush me?”

Angel Dust made an appreciative noise in his throat and writhed on the comforter again, looking up at Alastor through his lashes. He gave him a sly smile, flirting.

“I mean, I’ll try but… what’ll happen if I don’t?”

“I am not interested in inflicting _pain_. You have suffered quite enough at the hands of brutes and I do not wish to add to your collection of bruises. I think you deserve the pleasure you seek from me – it’s absence will be punishment enough… if you don’t _behave_.”

It was Alastor’s voice that did it for him. He had the perfect tone, commanding and dominant, but not forceful, or cruel. The Transatlantic accent and radio static made it even better. Angel Dust moaned. “Oh fuck, Alastor.”

“And do mind your language.”

“Yes, sir.”

In response Alastor smiled and pressed a quick kiss to Angel Dust’s lips. “Good boy.”

Alastor positioned himself at the foot of the bed. He laid a hand on one of Angel Dust’s feet and took it in his hands, starting a slow massage. He began to knead the soles of his feet, his heel, and toes. Angel Dust moaned, letting his eyes fall closed.

The touch wasn’t overtly sexual, but Alastor had warm hands, and starting at such an… innocent part of his body made him anticipate where Alastor was eventually going to reach. It felt stupid, so have such a strong response over this. Over the course of his time in Hell, he had either done everything or had everything done to him. But here Alastor was, taking his time with slow appreciation that it set his nerves on fire.

“Dunno how this feels so good,” he murmured, trying hard to stay still but failing with every caress. “You’ve barely done anything.”

“It’s like I told you – people are so busy rushing nowadays. They just don’t take the time to enjoy the simple pleasures. Imagine how much they miss in their single-minded pursuits.” His hands moved up to his ankles, and then his calves. “You have such beautiful legs.”

Angel Dust let out a self-deprecating laugh. “They’re kinda weird looking.”

“Not at all. Long and slender, just like the rest of you.” He ran his palm upwards until he reached Angel Dust’s thighs. He focused there for a while, nudging them apart, his fingers slipping briefly to caress the velvet-soft skin between his legs before returning to stroke the lean muscles of his thigh. It was maddening – sometimes he strayed tantalisingly close to actually touching a more salacious zone only to immediately return to somewhere perfectly safe.

“Oh god, please,” Angel Dust felt his breath catch in his throat when Alastor’s fingertips brushed his ballsack. He was still hard, his cock leaking all over his thigh where it was resting. Alastor only smiled at him and repeated the movement, a deliberate brush against the sensitive skin there. 

“You captured my interest when I saw you sprawled in your bed not too dissimilar to this,” he said conversationally, the barest pressure from his fingertips tracing over the soft skin on the inside of his thighs. “You were such an image, pretty as a picture.”

Angel Dust fought to get out a coherent thought. He breathed shallowly, panting.

“I thought – ahh- you said that you preferred it- oh god-oh god- when I was fully dressed…” he broke off on a moan when Alastor deliberately stroked his shaft. It wasn’t a proper touch – just a small caress with his fingertips, and it was all the more maddening for it.

“Aha, I don’t think I made myself clear; the appeal I was referring to was at seeing you surrender to me so publicly, and so completely...” Angel Dust shivered, mouth falling open on a moan. Alastor turned his attention back to Angel Dust’s thighs. “When we danced that night, the way you looked at me was nothing short of adoration. Of unbridled desire.”

Alastor withdrew his hands suddenly, and Angel Dust could help but arch up with a wail, desperately seeking his touch again. “But just because I enjoyed bringing you into my world doesn’t mean that I am averse to joining you in yours.”

For a brief beautiful, hopeful second Angel Dust thought that Alastor was going to take him in hand and give him a moment of relief. Of course he didn’t, and instead placed his hands on the curve of Angel Dust’s hips.

Angel Dust whimpered and Alastor smiled down at him.

“Shh, not yet. I am enjoying you as I please. I wouldn’t want to cut things short, and you know what they say: good things come to those who wait.”

He continued his meandering path upwards, leaving Angel Dust aching for release and completely unable to do anything about it. He wanted to moan and plead, but he had a feeling that Alastor wouldn’t indulge him out of principle if he did. He just had to _endure_ , though he felt about half a second away from coming anyway.

Alastor took great care when caressing the skin on Angel Dust’s stomach; the bruises were more prominent here, with less fur to hide them. They bloomed purple over his ribs and solar plexus, already starting to fade to yellow. Still, when he did press a little too hard, it was a sweet ache, nothing like the pain that initially inflicted them. Angel Dust found himself enjoying that too.

When Alastor reached his chest, he carded the soft fur there, letting the long white strands run between his fingers. A slender finger brushed over one of his nipples and Angel Dust thrashed his head to one side, burying his face in the pillow in an effort not to swear at the sudden burst of sensation.

“Sensitive here?”

“F- yes… oh god yes.”

“Hmm,” Alastor parted the fur and exposed a rosy pink nipple. Angel Dust had barely any warning before he dipped his head and licked the sensitive nub. His tongue was even hotter than his hand, and Angel Dust bucked.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he whimpered, trying hard to get himself under control. He was fast losing the battle with himself, and he felt hazardously close to coming untouched.

“Compose yourself sweetheart, and I’ll do it again.”

“Please – oh god Alastor, _please_.”

Alastor’s eyes shone as he lowered his head to Angel Dust’s chest. He licked the other nipple while rubbing the first – wet from his saliva- between his finger and thumb.

“Is that what you wanted?” he asked, his mouth close to Angel Dust’s chest.

“Yes! Oh please, yes!”

To his dismay Alastor straightened up, smiling. “Good to know!”

His hands traced higher, leaving Angel Dust arching in the air for more of a touch that wasn’t forthcoming. He moaned in frustration, writhing. Alastor stroked him in a manner that was far too _soothing_ for his liking. 

“Shh shh, settle down, my love.”

The endearment made Angel Dust’s gaze snap to Alastor’s. Alastor merely smiled at him, eyes shining with tenderness among his desire. He stroked Angel Dust’s throat, and inadvertently exposed the long thin knife-cut that nestled among the fur there. His expression darkened for a moment as he traced a long finger over the healing wound. Angel Dust realised that it was the first time he would have seen it properly – he wore a chocker most of the time.

“That’s how they tried to kill me,” Angel Dust said, his voice cracking slightly. “before you made a deal with me.”

“It looks like you got terribly lucky.”

“I ran into you. So yeah, I think so.” 

Alastor looked troubled. He shook his head as if clearing a pesky thought and slid his hand under Angel Dust to pull him up into a kiss. Angel Dust wrapped his arms around the back of Alastor’s neck and let himself be lifted into Alastor’s embrace. It didn’t feel like when they kissed before, light and flirtatious: it felt intimate, a lover’s kiss.

Alastor pulled back and smiled. “You’ve been very well behaved.”

“It’s really, _really_ hard not to jump you right now.”

“I’m impressed by your restraint. So impressed, in fact, that I think you should be rewarded.”

Alastor guided him to sit in his lap, to splay his legs and press the long line of his back against Alastor’s chest. From his angle Alastor could reach where he pleased, and he took advantage of it almost immediately. One hand buried into the fur at Angel Dust’s chest, seeking to tweak his nipples, and the other wrapped around his aching cock.

Angel Dust moaned, arching back against Alastor. He felt unprepared for the gentle touch, how Alastor’s long fingers completely covered him, stroking him from root to tip in long smooth movements.

“Kiss me,” Alastor whispered in his ear and Angel Dust did what he could to find Alastor’s lips with his own, finding the right angle. Alastor slipped his tongue into Angel Dust’s mouth and hummed with pleasure.

Perhaps it was a result of the incredible foreplay, the intimate position, or the pure heat of Alastor’s hands, but it barely took two strokes and Angel Dust felt the familiar building sensation start low in his belly. It went all too quickly from something he had under control to threatening to spill over. He broke away from the kiss with a gasp, suddenly remembering that he needed to breathe. 

“Alastor – Al – I – I’m gonna…!”

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

Angel Dust gasped, spilling immediately over Alastor’s hand. His muscles clenched and unclenched rhythmically as Alastor stroked him through it, murmuring gentle encouragements. “Good boy, so good for me.”

Spent, Angel Dust collapsed onto Alastor’s arms with a sigh, trusting him to hold him up. He felt wrung out, stomach muscles shaking with the intensity of it. He didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to, which he definitely didn’t. Alastor held him against his chest, and Angel Dust could hear his heartbeat, feel his breathing.

They were silent for a moment, and Angel Dust realised vaguely that Alastor was humming under his breath along with the song on the radio.

“Felt good,” he murmured, pressing himself a little closer. He didn’t usually get held like this after, and it felt kinda nice. Alastor pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“You’re a delight to watch. That is something I would love to see again.”

Angel Dust stretched, starting to feel like he was coming around a bit. “Gimme five minutes and I will be happy to return the favour.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Alastor didn’t make any move to shift him, but he did reach over for his wine to take a long drink. Angel Dust saw with no small amount of satisfaction that he could still see traces of his rapidly cooling semen coating Alastor’s fingers.

He idly thought that he wanted to lick it, taste the mix of himself and Alastor’s skin in his mouth. He pressed a kiss to Alastor’s neck instead, breathing in the scent of him.

“I brought some stuff, I’ll grab it when we’re ready to go again,” he said, nuzzling the soft juncture between Alastor’s neck and shoulder.

Alastor chuckled and eyed up the little overnight bag. “I am equally intrigued by your accoutrements as much as I am filled with trepidation to what you’ve brought.”

“Only the fun stuff,” Angel Dust winked, showing off his jagged teeth in a cheeky grin. “Though I gotta say, didn’t expect to be so turned on by havin’ ya just touch me like that. Your hands were fucking magic.”

Alastor looked more than a little smug. “Sometimes a simple touch is all that’s needed. And I’m learning exactly how to take you apart.”

Angel Dust shivered, though it was a warm feeling, surrounded in the afterglow. He sat up, wiggled out of Alastor’s lap and manoeuvred himself on the bed to kneel behind him. He draped himself over his shoulders, resting his weight on his back. He brought his mouth to one of Alastor’s cervine ears, and held back a giggle when he felt it twitch under his breath.

“Sounds like somethin’ you’d like me to do for you, too.” He let one of his free hands trail down Alastor’s chest, feeling the shape of his pectorals through the starched-white fabric of his shirt. Alastor gave a pleased sigh and leaned back into Angel Dust’s embrace.

Pleased at being given such a clear signal Angel Dust took the glass of wine from Alastor’s hand and put it safely out of the way. He concentrated the efforts of all of his hands on Alastor’s body – two of them focused on his shoulders, kneading and massaging the tension there; the other two wrapped around his middle and held him in a loose hug. It was very effective; Alastor all but melted into Angel Dust’s attention.

“Can I undress ya now?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Angel Dust slid the suspenders over Alastor’s shoulders and let them drop to his waist. Undoing the buttons of his shirt was trivial; it felt like a natural angle, pressed as close to Alastor’s back as he was – he was able to reach around and pop them open, one by one.

He couldn’t help himself. The moment the shirt fell open he slid a hand inside to caress the warm skin there. Alastor, grabbed his wrist.

“Just the clothes, for now.”

“Sorry. You know I’m greedy.”

Alastor smiled at him, looking over his shoulder to make eye contact. “Of course.”

Angel Dust gently pulled the shirt from Alastor’s shoulders, enjoying the view he got of his shoulder blades, the line of his spine. Angel Dust pressed a kiss at the nape of his neck.

“Couldn’t resist.”

Alastor turned suddenly and kissed him properly, guiding him to meet his lips. “Neither could I.”

The problem with suits was that there was a certain amount of… infrastructure… involved; it went doubly for the older-style of suits that Alastor wore. After Angel Dust had started to fumble with the layers Alastor undressed the rest of the way himself, temporarily untangling himself from Angel Dust’s limbs to do so. Without the structure of his suspenders his pants fell effortlessly from his slim hips and pooled on the floor. His underwear followed; Alastor really wasn’t shy. 

Angel Dust sat back and admired him as he neatly undressed, trying really fucking hard not to let his eyes go straight to his cock. He really _tried_. Alastor was a lot more _slender_ than people gave him credit for; he had broad shoulders, but his waist tapered quite dramatically, and his legs were long and thin. He had a classic figure, he supposed.

Alright, and he had a big dick, made all the more prominent thanks to his impressive erection.

Alastor caught him staring and cocked his head to one side, questioning. Angel Dust licked his lips.

“Admirin’ the view,” he said, trying hard to downplay the sudden and very definite interest he was feeling. Not that it mattered; Alastor could see plain as anything that he was already sporting a semi. Angel Dust always recovered quickly; it was a skill which really _helped_ in his line of work.

“Mm,” Alastor made a non-committal noise in his throat and joined him on the bed. Angel Dust hoped to hell that he was allowed to touch him now, cause keeping his hands to himself was proving to be near impossible.

As if reading his mind Alastor took one of Angel Dust’s hands and pulled him closer, inviting. “Come here.”

Angel Dust all but pounced, pushing Alastor back by his shoulders and nudging his thighs apart so that he could kneel between them. He couldn’t replicate how Alastor made him feel with a massage, but there were _some_ things he knew how to do really fucking well.

Alastor closed his eyes as Angel Dust kissed down his neck, gasping when he suckled at the sensitive skin of his throat. Angel Dust made careful note of every spot that elicited such a reaction. He kissed down Alastor’s chest (not that sensitive, comparably), his stomach (surprisingly ticklish), before reaching the ruddy head of his cock.

Making sure he could look deep into Alastor’s burning red eyes he took it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip.

The reaction was immediate. Alastor’s hands flew into Angel Dust’s hair, but Angel Dust couldn’t tell if he was trying to keep him still, push him down, or pulling him back. He wasn’t entirely sure if Alastor knew either. He repeated the movements with his tongue, sucking on the tip, tasting what he could.

Alastor thrust up into his mouth hard, his body making up his mind for him. “Oh… oh sweetheart… oh _fuck_.”

Angel Dust couldn’t speak, but he did respond by sliding down Alastor’s dick as far as he could go. The head of his cock pushed past the ring of muscle in his throat and he swallowed around him.

Alastor was struggling to keep his thighs still; they were trembling with the effort. He threw his head back and groaned, gripping Angel Dust’s hair.

Alastor tasted incredible, hot and salty and with something that was inexplicably _him_. Angel Dust wanted more of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed doing this for someone as much as he did right now. Nestled between Alastor’s legs, he was pressing against the bedsheets in a way that threatened to be a little _too_ stimulating if he wasn’t careful. He adjusted himself; this wasn’t about him and his pleasure. It was all about Alastor.

Angel Dust set a steady pace, focusing on long smooth movements that allowed him to savour Alastor’s scent and taste; he encouraged Alastor to thrust into his mouth, holding onto his hips to guide him, dragging his lips over his shaft on the upstroke and swallowing him deep on the thrust. Alastor couldn’t keep quiet – he was moaning, his voice catching, his breathing erratic. It was an incredible sound, to hear his Radio Demon lose so much of his control and poise.

Alastor’s hands were still in his hair, and he was flexing his fingers in time with Angel Dust’s movements. He tightened them suddenly, and tugged. His hands were shaking.

“Come back up here, mon chéri,” he said roughly, his voice oddly free of the usual static it carried. His accent was different too, losing a lot of the Transatlantic intonation. Angel Dust raised an eyebrow.

“All good?”

“Perfect, but not where I intend to end the evening. Come _here_.” Alastor gestured urgently. Angel Dust was immediately pulled into his embrace, Alastor kissing him as soon as he was within reach, full of passion and fervour. He pushed his tongue into Angel Dust’s mouth, twisting it against his own, and Angel Dust couldn’t help but get caught up in the hunger of it. Alastor was trembling with the effort, and their teeth clashed together as he tried to kiss him harder.

Alastor broke the kiss, panting hard, his voice a low growl. “You said you brought some things for this?”

“You want me to grab the lube?” Angel Dust asked, just as breathless, and laughed at the affronted face Alastor was pulling. “Okay, okay, wait there.” He kissed him and shuffled to where he’d thrown his bag. He fished out the bottle and tossed it over.

“How d’ya want me?” he asked, joining Alastor on the bed.

“I want to see every bit of you.”

“Then let me ride ya. I’ll give ya one hell of a show.”

He didn’t want to spend too much time preparing himself. He felt too wound up, wanted this too badly, and Alastor was right there with him. He squirted a healthy amount of lube onto his fingers, and made quick work spreading it in and around his hole.

Alastor seemed to be keeping a deliberately light touch with his own preparation; Angel Dust didn’t miss the way he had to pause mid-stroke, the way his eyes were fluttering closed, his smile faltering as he fought to keep the waves of pleasure at bay. He was starting to look dishevelled, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d seen. If Alastor’s behaviour was anything to go by – and his own guarded admission- not many people had seen the Radio Demon in such a state. Angel Dust felt oddly privileged to see it himself.

He made a mental note of definitely giving Alastor more blowjobs if it led to _this._

Angel Dust straddled Alastor’s waist and gently guided him into position. Their eyes locked; Angel Dust smiled at him and let his body slowly sink down on Alastor’s dick. Alastor groaned, pushed his head back into the pillows. His hands gripped Angel Dust’s waist as he guided him, making the effort not to thrust.

Fuck he felt good. The stretch was painful, a slow burn that made all of his attention focus on that single point. As practiced as he was, as experienced and skilled, he still had to take it slow. His body resisted, and he felt his breathing become laboured as he tried to relax, but fuck, it was so _much_.

“Mon chéri, my love, you feel incredible,” Alastor encouraged, trying to hold as still as he could as Angel Dust slowly sank around him. The lube did its job and eventually he bottomed out, sweat beading on his forehead. He was whimpering, shaking with the effort of it all.

He was so big, so hard. Angel Dust could feel him pressing against his prostate and fought to catch his breath. He leaned forwards, burning his face into the crook of Alastor’s neck, and pressing a messy kiss there.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” he moaned, screwing his eyes closed. Alastor chucked. 

“And you’re taking it brilliantly,” Alastor murmured, letting go of his waist to cup the back of his head. He stroked his hair in a manner that was unexpectedly tender. “You feel incredible.”

“Fuck, Alastor, can you move?”

Alastor gave an experimental thrust, and Angel Dust’s couldn’t stop the noise that escaped his throat. He was naturally noisy in the studio – it made for good watching to have him moaning like a bitch in heat – but this was different. He couldn’t stop these sounds if he tried.

Alastor groaned with him, and began to set a rhythm. The slow, tender start was rapidly diminishing as he found his pace, building up to something that could only be described as punishing. He was losing himself to something and Angel Dust could see a burning fire in his eyes that was threatening to consume both of them.

He held Angel Dust down by his waist as he thrust upwards. Angel Dust moaned, cried, gasped, breath being forced from his lungs. Despite being on top, he felt pinned, surrounded. Something was happening to the shadows in the room – they were growing, becoming tangible.

“You’re _mine_ ,” Alastor growled, tension mounting with each thrust. “For eternity.”

“You have me,” Angel Dust gasped, curling around the pleasure he felt building in his belly. His cock strained between them and the almost numbing sensation of Alastor slamming against his prostate was making it hard to think.

“What I feel for you… I… _fuck!_ ” Alastor broke off with a groan as he thrust, hips snapping as he chased his pleasure. “What I want to _give_ you…”

“Please… please…” Angel Dust felt deliciously powerless as Alastor thrust up into him. His hands pressed onto Alastor’s chest in an effort to hold on, to try and brace himself against the building pleasure. He couldn’t hold it for long. Alastor was burning too hot, too intense, his cock ramming deep and hard, driving him to an edge that he could never come back from.

He never wanted this feeling to end.

Fuck drugs. Fuck Valentino. This was surrender. This was bliss.

“Alastor…”

Alastor wrapped a hand around Angel Dust’s cock. The tight grip he held was just as punishing as his pace. Angel Dust wailed, stomach muscles tensing, his legs trembling with the effort of holding him up. He was starting to falter as a burning heat was tightening in his stomach, and the promise of it unleashing was _agony_.

“Come for me, my love.”

Angel Dust threw back his head on a silent scream. Semen spattered over his stomach, covering Alastor’s fist for the second time that evening.

Alastor didn’t take long to follow. The last few thrusts – agonising, sensitive as he was from coming – slammed against his prostate and at last Alastor groaned, back arched, every muscle tense and shaking. Angel Dust could feel the pulse of him, feel the steady throb of his cock as he came.

Eventually Alastor collapsed back into the pillows, his face relaxing. 

Angel Dust felt suddenly drained, and Alastor caught him as he fell, scooping him up in his arms and holding him close. Angel Dust buried his face into Alastor’s neck and breathed in the scent of him. Cologne. The fiery smell of his skin. Wine. He breathed in deep, wanting nothing more than to breathe in that scent forever. 

The next few moments were dreamlike, almost unreal. The music from the radio permeated the air, mixing with their mutual heavy breathing and racing heartbeats. Alastor was the first to recover – he manoeuvred Angel Dust, positioned him to lie on his side, still bundled in his arms. Angel Dust ignored the feeling of Alastor’s jizz running down his legs. He’d deal with it later.

He settled with his head on Alastor’s chest, and let himself enjoy Alastor’s finger tips drawing idle shapes on his back.

He listened to the radio for a while, dozing gently. Alastor’s hand came to rest on his waist, pulling him closer. He brushed his lips over Angel Dust’s hairline, a ghost of a kiss.

It was practically unheard of, a demon wanting something so simple as love. But here he was, basking in the glow of it, the pleasure burning bright and incomprehensible, and not feeling the slightest bit of remorse or guilt. It was made all the better for knowing that what he was feeling, Alastor felt it too. Well, he seemed to. Before he could stop himself, he found himself asking:

“Alastor?”

“Mmm?”

“When did you start having feelings for me?” He snuggled closer, trying to make it not look too obvious that he was watching Alastor’s face intently.

Alastor was quiet for long enough that Angel Dust thought that he wasn’t going to answer him, or evade the question. He looked worried again, was thinking deeply. He eventually sighed and kissed Angel Dust’s hair. 

“When I looked after you following your drug-induced escapade, there was something about seeing you so helpless and vulnerable that I knew right then that you were something I wanted to …have.” He glanced down at Angel Dust, and their eyes met. Alastor gave him a tender, soft smile. “It was a selfish desire initially, but then you kept on _surprising_ me whenever we spent time together. You became dear to me, no matter how much I tried to deny it.”

Angel Dust thought back to the music, the constant love songs, and Alastor’s reaction to them. He grinned to himself, finding it more than a little bit funny that even someone as powerful as Alastor lost control of his powers sometimes.

“I found you hot from the get-go,” Angel Dust said, but then added: “but that night at the club, I found myself falling in love with you. I don’t know why. Didn’t think I was capable of it.”

Alastor rolled onto his side, propping up on his elbow. He cupped the side of Angel Dust’s face. “Can’t say I expected it either. But here we are, an eternity to spend together in Hell.”

Angel Dust leaned forward to kiss him. “It ain’t so bad.”

> _I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim_
> 
> _I just want to be the one you love_
> 
> _And with your admission that you feel the same_
> 
> _I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of_
> 
> _Believe me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, and we are done! To say this has been turned around in less than a month, hasn't been beta'd, and is generally playing pretty fast and loose with canon/fanon details, I'm pretty pleased with it! I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. The songs here are another verse of "You Go To My Head", and "I don't Want to Set the World on Fire"
> 
> If you have any recs for this fandom (any pairings welcome, I'm pretty open about ships) please drop me a comment - I'd love to read your favourites!


End file.
